i hold
the seashell
up to my ear,
not with
the anticipation
of hearing
the crash of
the ocean waves
but with
the crushing hope
of catching even the
smallest note
of your voice
one
last
time.
when
a loved one
dies,
they say
you should
open a window
to let out
that final
wheezing
breath
so their soul
can
be
set free,
but hers is
still here
with me.
night
after night
after night,
she pounds her fists
on the walls
of my dreams,
begging for
me to tell
her
the way
out.
the other side.
fiction:
the ocean
i dive
headfirst
into
when i
can
no longer
breathe
in
reality.
a mermaid escapist II.
repeat after me:
you owe
no one
your
forgiveness.
except maybe yourself.
i
hope
you
can find it
in your
heart
to be
proud
of the
woman
i have become
in spite
of
you.
still hoping for sugar instead of salt.
you deserve
someone
who makes
you feel
like the
otherworldly
creature
you are.
yourself.