I look for little pieces of you in everyone. It's as if you died. And certain individuals seem to have consumed your ashes. And I find these people with the sole purpose to resurrect that feeling of being with you again. To feel alive.

The boy in my physics class who looks like you is the reason I hate mornings. It may not be the real you but I swear he took your laugh straight from our last phone call.

The story of Narcissus reminded me of all the times you got caught up in your own reflection and told me you were a god. You were my god. I worshipped you.

The boy I tried to like started using the same expressions as you and I suddenly wanted nothing to do with him. It wasn't his fault, most girls would love a guy who spoke to them like they were in the sixteenth century. Trust me, I did.

And I run from these people, maybe in hopes of forgetting you along the way. Maybe in hopes that I'll run right back into you. To hear you laugh again. And smile like the whole world ought to be taking your picture. And for you to say "How art thou?" But I know that the only thing I'm running away from, is the little piece of you that has become a part of me. I don't know how to escape you, and even if I did, I doubt that I would.

-m.k.

It was the middle of December and you made sure to turn on your fan before you went to sleep.

It was the beginning of January and I suddenly understood why you kept your fan on as 'I love you' rolled out of your mouth like the smoke that loomed over Pompeii. You choking on your own words was a red flag. I guess the smoke was too thick for me to notice.

It was February and the lava began scorching my fingertips with each muffled 'I love you.’ Some people tried to run, I chose to melt to death.

It was March and I was hoping you were only cauterizing my wounds, protecting me from something more harmful. I was wrong. Nothing is more harmful than a natural disaster.

It was April and you had cremated me to ash. I realized your false ‘I love you’s were what caused the tectonic plates to shift.

It is May and I am still reminiscing on January.

In June I hope the fan in your room keeps you cool enough from the volcano that you are.

I was anemic and you were O-. Life was draining from my eyes and you were my vital oasis. I needed you. You were right for me, right?

You were the universal donor to alleviate my sadness, and I accepted you without question. I let your blood consume my own. Because your blood was simultaneously filling me with oxygen, without you I couldn’t breathe. I needed you. You were right for me, right?


But for every drop of blood you contributed to my body, a new tear drop fell. Every drop of blood whispered a new insecurity. You filled me with your own self-doubt serving to emphasize my own. But not once did I wince at the pinch of the needle, or cringe at the sight of the IV. I needed you. You were right for me, right?

But so often times we fall for O- when we are AB+, because they feel right, because they seem perfect. And we fall because without those 6 quarts of blood we may cease to exist. We forget that our heart can beat alone without someone else’s name pumping through our veins. O- blood has common side-effects of insecurity and sadness that overpower the feeling of limited livelihood.

Wait for your AB+. It’s worth it. I promise.

~m.k.