Call Me When You Get This
By Emily Grant ‘21
I lied about the eyelashes.
I stopped asking them for favors altogether
actually, gave up since my wishes lately
don’t seem to want to come true.
Instead I’ve turned to pretending;
pretending you still want to talk to me,
pretending it doesn’t hurt when I drive by the past,
pretending I’m okay when I look back
at all the memories I’ve screwed up,
at all the friendships I never meant to ruin.
There’s a balloon where my heart should be,
swelling, wanting to burst.
Wanting to break
and be put back together again.
I lied about the eyelashes but
I’m not lying when I tell you
that sometimes I think of us in passing,
dream that a brief conversation might fix
all of our problems.
I think about what I might say to you
if I ever found the courage
to start with your name.
I wonder how you’d look at me
when I tell you that I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for not letting go of the pain yet.
I wish I didn’t have anything to let go of.
I’m sorry for the things that are my fault.
I wonder if you’re sorry, too.
I’m sorry I still write about it.
I don’t want to anymore.
I’m sorry I’m not stronger.
I promise I’m trying to be.