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Jan 2013
A few months ago, I saw you for the first time, and
I’ll probably never see you again.
I was at the mall with the friends who aren’t friends at all;
I think that day was the last time I saw them, too.
I walked into the food court and up to the stand where you were working,
And the first thing I noticed was that you were very pretty
Golden hair, bright amber eyes, and a smile
More sincere than what I was used to.
You were older than me, but couldn’t have been
More than eighteen,
And when I ordered a drink, you spoke in a kind voice
That sounded like music.
But this is what really made me remember you:
You reached your pale arm out to take the money from my hands,
And stretching from the base of your palm up to your elbow
Were rows upon rows of scars—some faded with time, but others
Red and scabbed, having been placed on your skin recently
By the burning kiss of a blade.
And so many things went through my mind at that moment, and
I still think them to this day.
I wonder if you noticed my gaze, trailing up your arm and into your
Eyes that shone like mirrors.
I wonder if you wanted to say something to me, but didn’t.
I wonder if you had finished that chapter in your life,
Or if you were already anticipating the next time you could open another vein,
And let the blood fall with your tears.
I wonder if you even remember me, or anything about that day.
Am I crazy for holding onto this memory?
I wish I had read your nametag, so I could’ve known the
Name behind the pretty face and untold story.
I wish I knew the reason behind your sadness;
The truth behind those rust-coloured eyes.
But mostly, I wish that I hadn’t been wearing a jacket, or that
I would’ve rolled up my sleeves, so that you could have seen
The rows upon rows of scars that lined my own arms—permanent reminders
Of the days that life wasn’t worth living—
Because they reflected yours almost perfectly.
And I wish you could have seen them, so that you could have known
That you’re not alone.
And I hope you’re still alive,
That this poem didn’t reach you too late,
Because I want you to know
I care.
This actually happened to me, and has been bothering me for a while...
Sierra Collins
Written by
Sierra Collins
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