Grocery lists.

I was texting today in my kitchen. 1:24pm. 84°. Sunny. I was laughing at something my friend said and bumped into the refrigerator. 1:25pm. My back pressed into the handles, a slight jolt from shock. 84°. Still sunny. I sound so pathetic relating everything back to you. Back to you. Again. 1:26pm. My back to you, I bumped into you hard. Unexpectedly. I was laughing at something life had handed me. Beautiful friendships. A new affinity for candles. Comfort within myself. 1:28pm. I bumped into you. Into you. Again. 84°. Still sunny. When I was into you, I was into you. Like a hand in wet cement, I depended on you to shape me. You surrounded me, inundated me. You became my margin. Margarine. That’s what I was looking for. 1:31pm. 84°.

I opened the refrigerator door and found what I was looking for. I found what I was looking for. I found what I was looking for. Still sunny. The vulnerability of egg shells even when they’re in the carton. The vulnerability of your legs in shorts in the summertime. The initial difficulty of mixing all of the ingredients together. I always wondered why you never gave me the passcode to your phone. 1:42pm. I miss you. I feel so pathetic relating everything back to you. You left so long ago, I don’t know why you’re still here. This is why I never go to the grocery store without a list. You are why I never go to the grocery store without a list. Fruit. Honesty. Vegetables. Support. Brownie mix. Manners are essential. Eggs. Selflessness. Soap. Strength. Lip balm. How important is religion? Toilet paper. Maturity. Was the nail polish on sale? Maybe you were just busy. My oil wasn’t empty, but I was running low. I know it read “Delivered,” but the text probably didn’t go through. Milk. Reliability. I didn’t usually buy cashews, bu I was hungry. You probably fell asleep again. You can never have enough candles. The perfume did smell like something your mom would wear. More trash bags. Someone I don’t have to make excuses for. Someone I don’t have to excuse myself for. 2:00pm. Still sunny.

I kept you. Did you know that? I kept you. I held you with me, always. Even when you were hers. Especially when you were hers. You’ve left me on a continuum of wanting to stand in front of you after setting myself on fire just to see if you care and wanting to make a good enough love to you for you to never look away from me again. I don’t know what to do with you. You are a waste of my time and yet I dedicate my nights to immortalizing you on pages. I don’t now where you are. I can’t find you. I don’t know what you believe in anymore. I don’t know what’s important to you. I am running. Exhausted and relentless to get to your heart again. I will spend my youth writing about you. Your shirts, your hands, and your life to warn little girls that there are monsters who smile, who bleed, just like them. Who will be willing to bake with them and who will worry about their safety. They will wake up everyday and wash their bodies in deception, clothe themselves with hypocrisy, and go visit little girls like me with circumvention in their kiss, beguilement on their fingertips. Monsters do not seclude themselves to the obscurity of closets, drugs do not only come in baggies and syringes. They love you. They hold you. They hold staring contests with you to see who can blink first and they make your happiness the soundtrack of their immorality. 2:47pm. 84°. Still sunny. Never go to the grocery store without a list.