ANNIVERSARY

There’s been a moth caught in my room for the

past two days. By this point, I’ve given it a name

and a back story so I can’t bring myself to kill it.

And I know there’s probably a metaphor here –

about how easy it is to kill something until you

start to understand it. Or maybe about how this

time last year things started between us and I

learned your story and cried more than you did

when you wrote the suicide letters anyway. So I

hold your name in one hand and my hurt in the

other, try and figure out which weighs more.

The thing is, I don’t even feel angry anymore.

But I still keep buying roses and setting them

on fire. Maybe this is a healing ritual, but I

don’t think ingesting all this smoke is doing

myself any favors. So, there’s this moth caught

in my room and I can’t bring myself to kill it,

because it’s worthless struggle to try and

swallow the light is something I can relate to.

So I give it a name, and I give it a back story,

and it’s identical to my own, and I hope that

it looks a little less sad on something else.