Here’s some things that wrench my heart: driving down Boston road. The cold touch of granite. Saints names. The rainfall.

Let’s start with a dare. Driving down the hills of Boston road. It’s tempting me in ways I can’t speak of. Hysterically crying. Telling myself that nothing is okay- it’ll never be the same. Adding some sort of parenthesis at the end to make it feel less frightening. There’s always a pause. I wonder what comes next?

Then there’s the stone that coats the floor of a church. I plant my hands like trees at the root. The icy touch pangs through me and I kneel like a sinner. Drunk off the sadness because no halo can help me until I sober up. Crushing my fingernails on the granite and the weight of it all builds up for hours. I look down and see the puddles I’ve created. I ask if my tears can be turned into holy water.

Each name etches itself in a piece of my brain. It’s like they’re calling me home, but I’m not sure what’s real. I’m not sure where they left me. I’m not sure of anything at all. But I do know about dying and losing and changing in all the wrong ways. These things greet me with open arms that clumsily wrap around my throat- tight enough to hurt, but loose enough to breath. What does that mean to you? Please tell me how to suffer gracefully. I rest my forehead on the feet of a statue of a saint. It melts my headache and numbs me for a moment. The saltwater from my tears stings and soothes me all at once.

I finally stand up when the rain decides to claim me. It drags me though the parking lot and sits me underneath a flickering street lamp. Im submerged in the blinking halo that paces itself to the rhythm of my heartbeat. This is as close as I get to safety. Hail Marys cut my lips. I think it’s time to surrender. Something like forgiveness.

I walk into your living room. You look at me like a stranger and ask “what’s so sad about people dying after all? Life is for the living”.

The road stretches thin and I carry it back with me like I never left.

AMT