Hey, please tell me how you are. I don't really care, but į will ask you, and if you answer me, then I'll ask you the week after that and the week after that, so you don't have to say I'm fine every time and instead, tell me how you really are. And one day, you do ask back. But then you leave. I don't understand. Į was going to tell you how I walked past a Kmart clothes rack, and it reminded me of you. I was going to tell you, I'm not doing so good. Į was going to tell you, I haven't had a conversation in months, but my plants are still alive. I'm not keeping them alive. I was going to lean my head on your shoulder, so you could feel how heavy my heart was and why that should matter to you if you say you care as much as you say you do. Į was going to tell you how į crocheted my first ever blue bucket hat, and I was going to tell you how it was the fucking sky, and you were going to laugh and shake your head and say you are the sky. But that's not true - that's too ambitious, that's not me. I am a cloud at best, floating across houses made of love and people made out of devastating hope and I pour when į piece all my sadness together and realize į lied, I am not at my best, and you don't know what that means because you don't know me the way I don't let you in. you don't know me the way you'll read this piece, and wonder, is this about me? Sorry. You don't know what that means, and į don't know you the way I try to. I don't know you the way I take pictures of you, I don't know you the way you don't tell me what's hurting you, I don't know you the way I know what ice cream flavor is your favorite. Sorry. I don't want to cross a line, and I'm not trying to fit the sky in my lungs, I just want someone to help me see that underneath all that gray there is a blue that is not sad and is it so bad that į want you to be the one. You say, but you're just a cloud. You evaporate for better things to exist. And I smile and į pretend you're not the sun, and I'm not a planetary object but a girl.
What I mean is: į still want to tell you how I've been doing.
Till you ask me again
Author
Cerene
The Abandoned Woman, Female
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