Strike a Match and Pour Gasoline. Ditch the Scene and Set Fire to Everyone Around.


When it was over, I tried to find beautiful things to remember, to hold onto, something better in my memory. The fireflies kept dancing, but only in the branches of the trees, blinking Morse code signals of STAY or GO. I could never make out which one I was supposed to follow.

Leaning against your side, I watched the smoke curl upward in the darkness. It twisted like the knots in my stomach, connected eternally by chemicals and cool air.

I traced the craters of your collar bones, the pointed peak of your shoulder blade, burrowed my head into your neck and whispered apologies you couldn’t hear but felt against your skin.

This is a bad idea, I said, shaking, but you assured me it was okay. We all need outlets sometimes. I don’t mind. But you grabbed my wrist as I turned to leave and said people don’t give one another that look unless they mean something more, and I didn’t have the heart to explain that maybe for someone else, I had more, but not for you.

For you, I am just awkwardly readjusting and refocusing,

These things take time, and casualties sometimes, and I can only wish I was more sorry.

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