This feels like coming home from the moon the way ghosts do. Do not tell me you love me on the days that you don’t. Winters here are far too heavy with snow, make me feel sick inside. I will always remember sleeping with you beneath your comforter, and I will always hate it. We stick our fingers into slices of lemon. When we pull them out, we see blood. This belongs to us. I am sorry, but I am not small enough to faint. I am sorry, but I am terrified of the boys who lock their doors & love their mothers without realizing what it is that they are doing.