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Dec 2014
It's been six months but I'm still waiting for the paint to dry. I'm getting better but the exit wounds on my back still start to ache some nights. And some mornings. And some afternoons when all I have to do is glance at my hands. I keep trying to bring flowers to your grave but I can't find it anywhere. How did we get this far from honesty? Why are my lips always chapped? When is God going to fix this? I'm sorry I haven't written much lately but I guess eventually you run out of things to say when you're talking to someone who isn't even there anymore. Nobody will look me in the eyes and everything is just wrong. The phone won't stop ringing and every time I answer I just hear a younger version of myself laughing and calling to my mother to watch me go down the slide. And I keep having this dream about a car crash and I always wake up after someone in the waiting room glances at me and whispers, "does she always cry like that?" It's late and I haven't stopped driving and the lights are all blurring but I hope it's never cold wherever you are and I hope you're never tired and you never burn your tongue and I hope that at least it used to be hard for you too.
8:18 pm
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