She told me about healing and how it truly isn’t real. Said it was a way we try and dismantle the horrible things that happened so that we can stand upright. And that’s such a bold thing to say to someone who is still cut wide open. I couldn’t believe how hot those words felt against my skin. She’d rehearse this story without any punctuation and I’d beg for a period every time. Some sort of finality to end the thought. And I waited with white knuckles and no air left in my lungs as another sentence rolled off her lips like a secret – so quickly I swore it didn’t pierce through me, but it did. It stung. It gutted my spirit just how her definition of false healing said it would. And maybe she was right- I’ll spend my time faking taught posture and practicing my breathing while my spine begs me to look downwards at what I buried. She reminded me that the dirt under my fingernails will always be there because I’ll never stop digging up the past. I was thinking about the things that made her this way- what was she truly capable of giving to me that hasn’t already been taken? Deep eyes and a shaking tremor- her skin sunken in deep enough to wonder if she’s alright. I’d like to see what show is being put on for everyone else- let the curtain fall and fall and fall and fall. -AMT