Perhaps you thought I couldn’t understand the way your body betrayed you. It wasn’t that — your fancy words drove me profane. Your linguistic prowess crawled under my fingernails and curled inside my eyelids until I wanted to gouge out your tongue. Sweet fuck, I wasted so much profanity on you.
Archive for the 'Postcards' category
Received/unsent #2
I remember when these details were important. Like the amount of honey you liked in your tea. I memorized you methodically. The only thing I knew how to do. Then. My short-term memory collapsed against my chest. Crushed between you and an irregular heartbeat. You know, I always hated vanilla.
Received/unsent #1
You didn’t find me. Not exactly. The address, the name: mine, of course. But you were looking for the me that could have been your everyday. My fingers always felt oblique against your body. More isn’t what it used to be. I don’t offer resolution. Just paper and an address.
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Postcards #7 & #8
You once asked me about all the things I should say. Everything I wanted to say but wouldn’t. Because the phrases meant nothing or something or anything. I’ll say one thing now: I loved the you that wasn’t really you. My larynx crumbled under the shift of your tectonic tongue.
***
I promised we were done. We were done. Except that I can’t get my skin back. You left a layer of ancient volcanic ash that wouldn’t scrape clean and can’t be excavated. So I keep dropping these postcards in the mailbox. Because it’s better than knowing who you are now.