I will take care of myself. I will wander through the forest preserve, following hesitated deer prints and tangling my hair on barren thorn bushes; when the snow gets in my boots, I’ll pretend the numb sensation doesn’t remind me of you. I’ll look for your footprints in the snow; irrationally hoping you came to check on me. But why would you? I bet you love her already. I bet you took her to our spot, you know- the one around the lake with the meadow? Did she lay her head on your chest, too? Speaking of chests, there’s either a ‘hollowness’ or a ‘too full-ness’ in my chest and I can’t discern which it may be, or which may be better. It might be hollow because you took what was left, ripped it out, tried to pan out the ugly, and keep the parts you liked. But, I am 6/7 parts ugliness and my body rejected the alien substance you tried to shove back in. You couldn’t just love me, could you? You had to change me.

Somehow I am also too full, the uncomfortable sort, like after thanksgiving dinner, in pants a size too tight but that you wore anyways in the hope that your legs might look slim- your legs looked like they were shoved in pants a size too tight, but anyways- my chest feels too full. The love I had for you that was once spent loving you lives in an organ I hand stitched your name onto, in a thread I thought was surefire to stay for the rest of eternity- the organ I brutally disfigured trying to carve your name off. Now I’m left flinging love at whoever will take it, whoever will pretend to want it until my frame presses against theirs and then leave. Why would they stay? You didn’t. I really hoped you would- maybe I should have used thicker thread. But I will walk through the forest preserve as the sun starts to set, not even glancing over my shoulder once. You’d know where to find me, but the whole point is you don’t want to find me, that’s why these aren’t your footprints- but I guess its the hesitation that reminds me of you.