i used to memorize your hands.

the way the ink stained them, and how steady they were, always. how immaculately manicured, yet impossibly manly they were. i spent so long trying to analyze them- like they were the pit of our downfall. how they touched, felt, held… loved everyone, anyone but me. how they felt on my waist, on my face, on my skin. how so many other women felt them, at some point. i often wonder what they looked like, wrapped tightly around my neck. how you could possibly look down at your own two hands, clenched so tightly on me. “live life” tattooed to your knuckles, as you pressed deeper on my throat with your thumbs. i play it over and over, and over in my mind.

i was barely nineteen.

i’m so lucky to have escaped you. so lucky to have avoided your presence in our small city for so long. you visit me often- in vivid dreams. in them, you love me like you always did: hard, and painfully. you try to love me better, and i always wake up feeling so awfully shattered. no matter how fast i run, how well i hide- you always find me.

honey bee is to be published in 2010.
it will finally be the end.


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