From all that rubble, what remains?
I think you’d look at me, clothed and content. I’d smile too generously and wave a gentle hello in a way strangers do on the street because that’s what I am to you. I’d offer to buy you a cup of hot coffee while we catch up about the time we’ve missed. I’ll tell you about all the things I’ve been doing and all the laughs that have made my abdomen sting. I’ll tell you about the colors in my dreams keeping me up at night, about the softness of my pillow and the songs of the morning birds. And then you’ll look at me once more and smile. She is happy.
She is bright.
She is full.
She is living.
She is alive.
And that’s why you’ll never know me, never hear me, never see me, .
I think I’d look at you, clothed and content, while silver lines my eyes and my heart decides to stop beating knowing you’ll hurt it again. I’d smile and wave, carrying my hand through the wind to keep your heart from breaking, but I’ll allow the gesture to break mine. I’ll wave a gentle hello feeling my bones shattering and the world before me begin to crumble. I’ll offer to buy you a coffee to keep your insides warm, while mine burn in dying agony from the sear of what once was. I’ll sip that fire, while you smile and sip yours, feeling my abdomen spill open, splicing my guts on the table for you to dissect their unworthiness and admire my black blood. I’ll tell you about the nightmares that keep me from sleeping, the utter pain from the creatures beneath my bed crawling under my skin with whispers like witchery. I’ll talk softly, like an enchanting hum, about the blackness and night skies that stain my unconscious mind and how the birds sing, trying to wake me up from a sleeping death.
You’ll look at me once more and beam, hearing nothing, seeing none, and knowing none. I’ll stand clothed in white and content with a stretched smile. Though when I finally walk away, I’ll watch you wave your gentle goodbye like strangers do, and fight the creature pulling my lips into a frown. I’ll try, just for five seconds longer, to keep it from stripping me of my white linens before I look like liquid night stalking through the day.
Because from all that rubble, what remains is only the shell that held my soul anyways. Only the creatures under my bed and the skin that keeps them in. Before the strings of my smile snap, I’ll wave goodbye, hoping I kept your heart from breaking and the despair from leaking out.