My therapist
wants me to write a love letter
to the girl I was
when I was a kid
I take out a pen
and promise myself
I can do it this time
but all I see
is a girl in a glass coffin
who knows exactly how
to fold her hands
she knows that becoming dead
is the only way to stay alive
she knows that topsoil
can't hide a body's history
for too long
dusk comes
she finally emerges
walks up to me
takes my hand and pulls me
through a dark hallway
towards my old bedroom
I can't promise her
I can stay long
but I can look for a brief moment
I scrawl on the wall
"you will survive this"
but I am not sure
she believes me
I have one foot out the door
but she grabs my hand
and draws a map
of the galaxy on the wall
and whispers to me
"I'll meet you there"
Originally published in Gunpowder Press
