“to wish – to be more hope than scar tissue, in a night that has never hummed with such fervor; the sky pouring like a cup full of wine and our lips pouring in one another. the blackest, most remote parts of me asked for softness. in my mind, i tried dressing you with light. you came to pray and believed my mouth was an altar. i thought, maybe this love wouldn’t break the windows and dismantle the door. maybe this love would be kind. i’d hear my name spoken and i’d recognize myself. but closeness meant restraining. you tore the door down, made the walls tremble and forgot anything about praying. yet this time i was brave. this time i spoke. to bury - that’s what are words best for. is it better to grieve because you’re lonely or because you haven’t met anyone that made you feel that way? you’re a blank canvas, but sometimes people see something in you. people imagine. people weave entire stories, although they don’t know anything about each other’s griefs. maybe this is why i stopped trying to convey who i am – the world prefers you to remain devoid of color, an emptiness left to be filled in. realizing that, it’s wrong to say that no one made you feel lonely.”
— erin g.
