People talk too loud. The coffee burns my tongue. I let you pay for your own this time. We settle into a corner table where the surface still hosts carved initials. It’s like a map that leads us back here with the latticework of every person who decided to make a mark. Something permanent. Something tangible. Something you can feel. I chip away at the enamel that covers the scribbles, praying that it somehow grows arms to take me whole- sweaty palms and all. I want to soak through the floorboards as if I never stepped foot in here. Combust like a flame and leave you with the ashes. Ask me everything and I’ll try to return the favor. Let’s rip off every question and let the sting linger: How’s your mom? I still smoke. Are you still taking pills to feel less sad? Heard you quit drinking. I bet the east side is lonely. Are you in love again? I moved. Grief is harder than it looks. Do you still care as much? Who’s your best friend? Say it loudly. Say it for the entire town to hear. Say it like you fucking mean it- like finality never phased us. But it did. It had to have lingered. It had to have changed you. It had to have hurt you too, right? -AMT©️