Page 9 of Warmer, Colder

She was wrong.I’m fine.I won’t go back down that road.

There’s nothing wrong with me. All I need islove.

Love is the answer to everything.

She’ll see. They’ll allsee. I was right. I was right about itall. I’ll show them.

With a practiced stretch, the scrunchie on my wrist snaps against my skin. Once, twice, three times. I bring the bit of fabric to my nose and pull in a deep breath. A hint of her sweet scent seeps into my nasal passage and my shoulders relax just a fraction. With another whiff, my fingers loosen a bit. On the third inhale, I drop the other ruined sheet of stationery from my fist and then gather all the discarded papers in a pile.

Shame perches on my shoulders an unwelcome visitor as I shove the evidence of my episode in my bottom dresser drawer and crawl into bed.

“Everything is fine,” I reiterate the affirmation and click off the light.

50 Days till Death

Sleep avoids me like my goddess, her absence leaving my room as devoid of life as the dawn sky that peeks through my curtain. Peeling off the sweaty pajamas that cling to me, I drape a cotton robe over myself and return to my desk. Instead of returning to the letters, I open my laptop, click on my bookmarks, and navigate to my favorite source of news, Becca’s profile. There’s a new photo.

Without clicking on it, it’s difficult to make out the grainy, filtered photo, but the familiar symbol of a sprig of lavender is clear enough. Heart in my throat, I tap on the square. The top half of the letter I left her is the focal point of the photo, the envelope—seal-side up—and a freshly picked California wild rose from her front yard are placed somewhat aesthetically at each side.

Some of the heaviness I’ve been hoarding in my chest escapes through my gasp of pleasant surprise. Excitedly scrolling down, I quickly read the caption.When life gives you a silver lining, cherish it.But it’s not the sickly-sweet caption that holds my attention, it’s the comments that unfold below it.

Gag me.

Delete this.

Did you write yourself a love letter? Pathetic.

Desperate for attention much?

Embarrassing.

My throat constricts and sweat beads across my brow as the cruel words take me back to the days when I used to allow people to talk to me like that. The little relief I’ve found is poisoned with the ignorant judgments of my peers once again.

That neglected little girl inside me tugs at the edge of my consciousness for the smallest bit of comfort. I deny her.I deny myself.

Maybe we’re not worthy of love, after all.Maybe I was just a fool to think things could change.

46 Days till Death

On the seventh day of mourning the horrific scene I witnessed between Becca and that shitbag who isn’t worthy of breathing the same air as her let alone receiving pleasure from her perfect lips, I remember who the fuck I am. Or better yet, Aphrodite reminds me with her incessant demanding presence.Get back up. This isn’t over.

With her annoyed yet affectionate persistence, I finally find the willpower to stop moping and refocus. Our entire lives have been leading up to this.Maybe this is just a test of my love.

Before I can resume my pursuit, I need to deal with the offensive smell of my unwashed body and the ratty tangles that web through my hair.

“Let’s get this shit over with,” I sigh to myself as I drag my ass to the shower. But as the cool water spills over me, it holds me close and reinvigorates my determination. When I’ve washed and rinsed away all the jealousy, failure, and self-loathing that clings to me, I step out and fall into the steps of a loyal devotee and caring lover.

With the candles lit, and sliced apples and Belgian chocolate laid out on the golden tea plate, I set to work shuffling my mermaid tarot deck and pulling a singular card.

The chariot upright. That’s all the encouragement I need.

39 Days till Death

Ignoring the ache in my wrist, I write out the excerpt from Sappho fragment thirty-one.

For when I look at you even for a short time, it is no longer possible for me to speak.

The famed poet’s words followed by mine are surrounded by the tiny pieces of the orange and red petals I used in this batch of paper. Pleased with my work, I spritz the page a few times with the enhanced rose water and shake it gently to dry before the ink runs.It’s ready.

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