that’s the word that comes to my
mind when i think about
and how you left.
sometimes i think i miss you.
when i’m standing in front of the mirror in my room.
i’ve noticed that my bones don’t
jut out like they used to.
and i’ve never liked the number 133.
you know that, of course.
i prefer 120, and 114;
numbers like that.
you seemed to like 103 and 98. i’m sure
you could’ve persuaded me to be on your
side if i’d have let you.
and if you hadn’t started to fade away,
i would have.
it’s my fault you’re not here anymore.
i know that.
yes, i’m proud of myself for finally telling you
that you could not stay.
or do i feel this way just because everyone says
“good riddance” when i mention your name?
as poisonous as you were for my body,
my mind still thinks i was weak to let you
i’m sorry, ana.
i think i loved you.
some days you made me feel so empty,
like i wouldn’t be able to tell if i had died or not.
but i’d be lying if i said there weren’t days
when i felt like my body was a dandelion puff
and i wasn’t hollow.
i felt like sunlight.
but it was a lie.
ana, you lied.
you said you’d make me pretty.
you said boys would pay attention to me.
you said you cared about me.
and when you left,
i was alone and after a while it felt good
to not feel so lifeless and empty
but now your breath lingers on my skin.
like the smoke scent on a dirty sweatshirt
after a bonfire.
ana, i’ve forgotten how it feels to be air
and now i’m scared,
because i know someday i’ll want to remember.