this is how it feels
She’s been writing this letter for years. There are countless drafts, abandoned. Some were burned, neglected like a prayer, unbelieved. This is a gasp, an ache, the way it feels to throw wishes in a well, only to find the well is empty – and you are broke. There is no one you can call to come get you. You walk, without knowing where you are walking to. Someone calls your name. When you turn, no one is there.
This is how it feels to realize everything is an accident. You were not planned. You are a bad decision at a cocktail party that you weren’t even supposed to attend. Straighten your clothing and leave. He drinks to forget the lies he tells himself, but at least his kisses aren’t empty. His head is filled with thoughts of you. You are the ghost in his reflection. He is afraid. Let him go.
No, don’t. Throw the ring away. Retrieve your heart from the freezer, from the safety deposit box, from underneath your mattress. Let it thaw. Let it breathe. Shake it out. Ask him to stay. Tell him how it feels each time he goes, each time he disappears himself. Do not line the words with guilt. Instead, edge them with love. Extract the spark of beauty from the pain, and wear it. It is an odd grace.
She’s been writing this letter for years. Only, it is a blank page. The word she is a lie.