[ scattered like stars. ]

(because i am a closet writer.)

after briefly falling and getting up, and having the strength to save face, i put out my hand. he accepts my friendship and recognizes my maturity. i share with him my pain, and the things i have learned on my journey into the person i have become. the guilt forces him to admit that he led me on, even though he was aware it would go nowhere, he took me there and dropped me. it should’ve felt good to realize that i was not a victim of my own fabrication, that there was something there, but it was something he couldnt afford. thus, he sampled a small piece of me before turning me away. i dont let him see past my smile. i felt a pull on my stitches, the warm comfort of my wounds leaking all over myself. poor winter luck. i want to coil in myself and hide until the air gets warmer. i am crawling through the casualties of my almost lovers, burdened by their blows of anger against the ones who have hurt them previously. i am paying for their pain, like a band aid stretched across their heart, while breaking mine in the process.

if i was the same as him, as them, i too, would be a cancer. i would be ground like glass into dust and to be carried into the breath of the ones unsuspecting. instead, i hope i would be broken apart and scattered into the night, a handful of stars, where i could be immortalized as the tears in the sky, like juliet’s wishes. perhaps then i would be embraced.

to this year’s flavors….to my poor, winter luck. to my womanizer. to the boy who thought i was something to show off to his friends but not bring home to his mother. to the one i have loved, who promised to wait for me, but refuses to see me. to my ten year old scars. and to the others that truly broke me apart. thank you for making me stronger, for making me weaker, for making me remember that i am human.

perhaps it is time to hibernate again.