We don’t talk anymore, and that’s okay.
This year, I don’t want memories. I don’t want wishes or goals or resolutions.
I’ve never been like other people. Maybe that’s too grand a statement. Maybe there are too many people in this big loud world for me to be an original. So allow me rephrase.
But fantasy is potent. And he can’t compete with that. With a figment. With possibility. With what could have been.
I want to sleep with the musician.
That the place I love so deeply will have stayed entirely as it were upon my exit. That my return will breathe life back into its veins.
I found out from her mother. From her mother’s email.
But the brave aren’t strong because they don’t feel pain. They’re strong because they have.
There are only pieces of you left.
The only way to become unremarkable is to believe that you are.