hanahaki healing

the salvation you buried

and then the sun folded into itself. and then the quiet didn't have to be an ache. and then and then and then and then-

i often dream about short, saccharine little resolutions like this. when film credits will scroll aimlessly, and the unhealed wound in the shape of a girl will finally exit the room. i want a swan song that ends with a contented sigh. i want to know a lull in conversation that doesn't feel like morning, like annihilation.

despite everything, i still told you that i was breakable. most of the time, you're prepared to squeeze me tight, to hold my body together when i feel like i'm about to implode in on myself, but it hurts more when you forget the places i've fractured. i hurt and it shows—as predicted—yet you resent me for what you can't remember. am i forgettable? do you believe me?

i know pretty words, and i know fumbling with love too slippery for shaking hands, but i miss when i didn't search for proof and you didn't try so hard to give it to me.

i wish i was forgivable. i wish i could be owed kindness. i wish i wouldn't feel so guilty for wanting it.