i want to draw the memories out on that map i found in the glovebox as we drive. mark out the places we’ll go, and the people we’ll meet. and i know it hasn’t happened yet, but just promise we’ll get there, someday, no matter what.
because we’re gonna light up lanterns, i’m sure we will, and write wishes on the tissue-paper sides. and i’ll have a job, and i’ll hate it, but in that way you can ignore when you come home, so it’s fine. i’ll stop being so tired, all the fucking time, fazed by the slightest disaster.
but for now, i pin out contingencies across the dash, and buy myself a bath bomb off etsy. because i don’t know anything about the world, but i want to learn. walk along the old path, all alone, and don’t stumble like you used to. preserve the snapped twigs and press the crocus petals in your favourite book, so you’ll always remember the day you looked down over the abyss, and chose not to jump into it.
i’ll take the long way home, and carve out a path along hiking trails and highways, all of my own. trace the geography of broken promises along my collarbone, and try not to dance on the walk home, a smile breaking out across my cheeks despite it all. despite myself. feel the bruises, and scrapes, and scars, the way my thighs touch, and just let them fucking exist.
not a failed lesson, not the answer to the question, not some holy sin. this is home, this is my body, and i think i’m learning that. ever-so-slowly.