19 April
A letter of reeling
Dear painful friend,
I suppose it’s an option to read you
without reeling
watch your face flicker pixels
without wanting to scream
down your unbending throat
not give into these stale old feelings
they crumbled like the dirt I forgot to bottle
in September at the end of the trail
I'm beginning to wonder if they will ever die
want, you say it with that accent
softening the sound to something sweet
taffy, candy, easy sugar, not good, junk food
you’re thinking of moving
my mouth turns up at the corner
wry, mocking—I know why
what other reason would you have there
I’ve worked myself into mental corners
convinced myself you’re not together
as if it matters; I’m taken too
but that look in her eyes in the pink light
in your story that time in November
I looked at you like that
once and—I hope not—forever
I want to rewrite you
and remake you in my mind
three hundred and sixty five days ago
all this was set in motion
If I could go back and shake her
the stupid woman entranced by your vowels, your smile
if I could slap her into self-preserving movement
before it fell apart
I probably wouldn’t dare
teach me, strange teacher
the paintbrush and lupine knew it all along
because we clearly crossed for a reason
if you give me words I couldn’t put together before
if tentative flowers sprout from these fraying sidewalks
if all this finally quiets and leaves behind peace
then it will have been worth it to know you.
Sincerely, and with far too much,
me
About the Creator
Sarahmarie Specht-Bird
A writer, teacher, traveler, and long-distance hiker in pursuit of a life that blends them all. Read trail dispatches and adventure stories at my website.
Comments (1)
Nice💖📝👣