train stations

xi.

Dear W,

I remember our first anniversary. Not our wedding anniversary, but the anniversary of our romance, which I still didn't believe was false.

You seemed so excited as I unwrapped my gift. (I feel sick because I never deserved your excitement. You should have loved someone else with that fierce energy.)

I told you how pretty it was and dutifully put it on my wrist. You explained that you picked out each charm for each special moment we shared as you clasped it for me. My mouth was dry. I smiled until my cheeks were sore, and I still haven't stopped, even as my teeth are tearing through my face.

It was so perfect. You were so perfect.

Why did I have to be so completely imperfect?

—Forgotten