Page 167 of Pierce Me

that one time you were too sad to tell me.

Maybe beauty only exists in my heart every time I think of you

Even though your face gets ugly every time you speak of me

But I find that gorgeous too

Because even though I’ve lost you, I still love you.

I don’t cry at this one. It is so beautiful that my skin becomes covered in goosebumps as I read, but I’m too busy wondering if it’s written about me to cry.

Hopingit was written about me.

It can’t have been, of course. It’s impossible. But, ah, the hope is killing me. I just hate whoever invented hope. Saint Hope. Hope is the devil.

Is it too late to start believing in God again?

Or for the first time?

I just keep reading her poems, Skye waiting patiently next to me, holding on to me in case I fall apart again. In case I fall more apart. I catch him reading over my shoulder. He sniffles loudly at several parts, but I’m not crying anymore. I am just numb. In awe of her talent, destroyed by her words.

This is her soul, raw, open, exposed.

My soul recognizes hers.

But finally this, this is the poem that breaks me:

Multiverse

There is a world in the multiverse

Where you don’t hate me

Where I haven’t broken you

And we are still laughing on autumn leaves.

And even though in this universe

I have everything I need

Sisters, a dad (a real one), a job

Half a brain, half a heart

Everything I could need

Even though there is a me in the multiverse

Who was never hurt

Who was loved

Who didn’t lose

the first fifteen years of her life

to a madman

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