I died.
Mommy, I died and I can’t tell you I did.
I can’t tell you that I’m sitting on the other side crying
because I’ve hurt you more than I ever knew I possibly could
I couldn’t sleep before,
knowing my heartbeats were numbered
so I counted them.

Sixty beats a minute, fourteen-hundred something minutes a day, thirty days for six months
60 times 1400 times 30 times 6.
I did the arithmetic so I could have one more math test to cheat on.
I ran laps and hyperventilated and did every upbeat thing I could think of to upend my pulse so
I could lie to myself.
140 times 1400 times 30 times 6.  
It’s twice as big.

I don’t know if I can sleep now, and I didn’t tell you, mommy.
cause I didn’t want you to lose sleep then,
and I hate you’re losing sleep now.

Let me fill
In your embrace,

Let your heart
Hum its beats
to me,

Let me hear
The sweetest
Lullaby,

Let my chaos
Sleep.

-Sayali Parkar

Yesterday night,
as I was crossing the
bridge of the past,
your name was
barely floating underneath,
I looked at it as it was
half submerged,
half breathing,
and my hand didn't reach out for it,
instead, it reached out for my heart,
listened to its beats,
they said walk to the end of the bridge,
and I did,
my hand reached for my hair and cut
two strands to make a ribbon to tie the past,
you loved my hair after all,
didn't you?

memorizing the details of
that one afternoon -
cold room
warm hands
heartbeats in chaos -
this will haunt me for lifetimes.