Departure

I tried to cut the cord. I diminished. I tugged and tugged. And hid and hid. I juiced the ache and drank it in one sitting. Why didn’t you return? It’s my fault, isn’t it? I’ll run for miles with it.

I’m here. Lifeless. Breathing. Indifferent. Passionate. Deprived. I’ll make it only because I have to. Because I must take care of her since she can’t and never will. I’m still a child stuck as an adult. She’s still an adult stuck as a child.

I reach a mountain and people applaud. Then, I tumble down and people disperse. I find joy. Joy is replaced by death. By old age. By isolation. By resentment. I wait for you behind the front door. I’m waiting for no one, aren’t I?

The humid nights. Sweat making love to a leather sofa. I connect with someone. One day, butterflies are swirling around in my stomach. The next day, I’m covering my bruises. I leave and keep this a secret.

I’m scared. Tell me a bedtime story. I’m lonely. Pick me up and spin me around. I’m crippled. Tell me that you’ll stay. Tell me you knew what he did to me. Tell me you understand why I’m frozen and can’t open up.

Always mute. Like you. Now I talk and talk. And laugh and laugh. I can hide my pain like a chameleon. I never receive an award. But I pat myself on the back and pretend I’ve won. No one deserves this torment. No one but me.

We’ll meet again when I exonerate myself. You, I can let off the hook. But me? I can’t. I’m expected to change directions. To fix the brokenness you left. To lift my unmotivated limbs. It’s what you said. That I have to be somebody.

Who? Who should I be? Would you like this version? Will they? Do I? They call me beautiful. They like my smile. Wider. My delicate nature comes out to play. They pity me and then use it against me. Tell me. How should I be?

Come back. It’s been years. Don’t. I won’t care. But I do. I can’t hire a parent for the week. You can’t press undo. I press rewind. A pink bin with dolls. A half-eaten sandwich on a plastic plate. Clapping, dancing. You say my name, and I rest on your lap.