excerpts from stories i will never write

soon i will throw out the last thing i keep around that reminds me of you–– such a small thing–– a pen. scratched on the sides, worn from use, running out of ink. traced out lines in my Bible, careful note-taking,  kept my hand steady. soon i will throw away the last thing that reminds me of you. it may not even be the exact same one you bought me as i bought another pack of the same pens sometime after regardless it's almost gone now like you the lines in (of) my memory faded. i have to press down on the paper to get your pen to write for me. a blade almost cutting the paper like the lines you made on my heart when you left. and you left so many times. so many times. but soon i will throw away the last thing that reminds me of you and maybe, maybe, you'll leave with it. just a pen.  --9.28.20

terrified. so far away, but distance makes things both easier and harder. different things. scared she's not ready, will never be ready. will never be good enough. scared she won't be able to let go of herself enough to hold onto someone else.