an epilogue

How do you start a story? Do they begin or are they continuations from a different universe?

If there was a god. What would you ask him?

Your heart still breaks for him. You don’t know why. The brokenness has lessened from him, but it still breaks for him. This is what empathy teaches you. You look at the love notes you keep on your dresser from your friends. A note from your roommate, a silly poem from your manager. Tiny objects of affection, a physical remembrance. And you wonder if he has those, too.

Were you one of the only ones to truly love and to truly see? The soles of your feet have turned black from wandering everywhere - but you need to wander. You need to feel that summer light, you need to feel that summer magic.

These moments are yours. They are just yours, and they are only yours. “Sparkle Lists”. You sit in the sun and list out everything that found you exactly when you needed it.

Your hair falls down your back. It’s long and dark and thick and healthy and has grown out almost past your elbows. You wake up excited, and you wake up before anyone else.

White feathers, dimes, bunnies. Overgrown flower gardens. Running into neighbours. Angel numbers.

The air is sticky in July, but it’s not unbearable. You know how to handle heatwaves. Sunscreen on your face and collarbone, and bring a water bottle wherever you go. Walk everywhere before noon, and walk everywhere after 4 pm. You’ll still tan.

It breaks for, not because.

The smell of white lilies in the morning. A complexion that glows. A day of nothingness.

You felt god in the way you let yourself be held.