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.