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.

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