i. in my dream, you were here again.
you were here, and i wasn’t bleeding, and you weren’t laughing anymore
in my dream, there was a bed with three pillows, and you drowned them all and called them silly, useless things, and i started shaking again.
in my dream, you put lipstick on your fists and told me now they’ll  leave pretty kisses, and i begged you to show me.
ii. there are ways to say i love you when you’re going away.
you write down your wedding vows for the girl you always knew you’d marry. you send them to her, and pray they get there before the obituary.
you tell your mother thank you for the cookbook, and you kiss her cheek and tell her you like her perfume.
you hug your father and pretend you both don’t know that you’re not the child he always wanted, and now you never will be.
you make sure that, when you’re found, you look sorry.Â
you make sure they can see the apologies on your tongue.
iii. i had another dream.
you were there again, and your hands were smeared red.Â
you were cupping my cheeks with those hands and your teeth were cold when you kissed my forehead.
you took me to the bed with no pillows, and you laid me out. you smiled at my bones and called me beautiful.
you always told me i was beautiful when i was like this. blood-smeared and holy, ophelia reimagined.
 too bad you never brought me flowers.