Sometimes I like to think
that if I close my eyes
and I mean really close my eyes
and sit still for a little while,
that when I open them,
the world will forgive me for the vitriolic poison I’ve imposed upon you throughout the years.
That the footsteps buried underneath the sand
will be ours from a long time ago,
and that to sit down on our bench by the sea
won’t feel as if screws and nails are drilling into my flesh —
I like to think that the sun will finally
touch the moon’s flesh one day
and feel that she was the cause of
the holes, the craters, the wounds :
stiff, like rigor mortis —
And that I wasn’t just a girl
standing in front of a boy
asking him to love her ;
I like to think that I was more than that.
I like to think that one day,
we’ll be blanketed under the sheath of the sun and
allow its light to heal our wounds, fill our craters —
allow the light to finally drown our darkness.