Sour Sweets

When people ask me how I am, I begin to feel like I’m eight. 

How am I? 

I’m lost without a clue to my blues. 

I’m just realizing now, popping out of my delusion, that the world is so big. So messy. So real. So sad. So lonely. So unfair. 

And you’re meaning to tell me we’ve been doing this for a while? The same cycle, and circular staircase. 

What?! 

Don’t the people around me want to lay in the grass too? Maybe run through some sprinklers or to the sound of an ice cream truck. 

I shake my hair and laugh because life was never about the split. 

It’s about me. It’s about God. It’s about anger. It’s about love (even still). Maybe one day this will all make sense. 

One day. One song. I hope, I feel. I wish, I sigh. 

I want things to click, to fall into place. Like snow in a globe, gleaming and glistening in the sun. Show me a sign, give me a miracle. White picket fences and Sunday evening views. 

I’m a toddler in my twenties and I’m learning to walk. I’m aiming for a cleaner cut and a less bruised memory. 

Who am I without you? Who am I without me? 

The world is so lonely. Love is so lonely.

No, it’s not. Don’t be a liar.

Summer threads, the fresh ache. 

It was disgusting and unnerving–the entire bane to my existence. 

I want things to be different. I want a simple future but a successful one. No more hurt, just peace, prayer, and a desperate ginger cleanse. Rip me open, gouge my heart, dip it in wonderfully warm water, and let it soak. 

Sixty seconds. 

Thirty. 

Twenty. 

Ten. 

Five. 

Take it out. Let it breathe. Tell her to be kind, to never change. To never be that girl. Let my heart lay in the sand, soaking in the sun–

that summer salt. 

It’s okay. Please tell her. We’ll be okay. Please hold her.