Things I Wish I Wouldn't Write About
Things I wish I wouldn't write about: Julia.
I wish I wouldn't write about how the sound of her laughter
could end wars. I wish I wouldn't write about her adorably-tousled hair or her
chipped nail polish or her eyes that told stories of adventure and mischief and
never-ending summer nights. I wish my pen would stop piercing the page with
words that could never compare to the way her hand feels in mine. I wish my
brain would just pack its bags and move on and forget about her.
I wish my thoughts wouldn't find comfort in the blank pages
of notebooks; I wish they would settle down into the ears of loved ones. I wish
everyone would stop looking at me like that.
I wish everyone would understand that I am incapable of seeing the black sky
lit up by stars or the red blur of a car passing by or the dingy white of my
pillowcase without thinking of her.
I wish the words wouldn't come of their own accord. I wish
I could control the things I write. I wish I wasn't bound and gagged and
useless while the words knocked me senseless and possessed me.
I wish I wouldn't think about her so much.
I wish I wasn't so helpless and weak and disappointing. I
wish I could accomplish feats like those of the heroes she used to scoff at. I
wish I could shift tectonic plates to rearrange the earth and make a better
one.
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