I’ve been laying on the bed of lies lately, but if you let me play the honesty card this once, I am feeling weak. Please break my bones in two and let this dead body of mine sit beside you. I haven’t come home for a long time, sweetheart, I am afraid I forgot the numbers to our door lock. I don’t think you’d mind finding bleeding fingertips covering the passcode keys, but my knees are bruising and if I was to be honest, sweetheart, I don’t really like how I’m feeling. Please bring me your bowl of soup and let me boil my insides with it. And later on, when it’s time for the doctors to pronounce my death, please pour the sea into my coffee cup and let me drink from it once again.
If I am being honest, rather than letting us go, I’d prefer to bite your skin with my raging teeth and let the wound haunt you for as long as you go. I wish to exist. I never wish to walk away. But leaving, for a fact, is the easiest thing to do when every fruit you eat is no longer ripe. And if we are being honest, you know so damn well that I am good at most things but staying and holding on. For the love of God and every drip of the ocean He made, this once, I don’t mind lacking.
You’ll find me afloat with a half-bitten apple in my right hand. If I’m being honest, you can devour my heart and get rid of the trace. I swear I’ll keep you safe. Because, sweetheart, if we’re being honest, you eat love as if your mother seasoned it, and I serve love as if my mother never did. Find me afloat with a half-bitten apple in my right hand. I’ll let you finish the rest.
Written on May 2022.
