Alphabet Killer

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I took one last look at your face, memorized your high cheek bones, your eyes rather sunken in and the look of sameness you always had on your face. I turned away and walked inside. I slammed the door behind me and slid to the floor. I tucked my...

I took one last look at your face, memorized your high cheek bones, your eyes rather sunken in and the look of sameness you always had on your face. I turned away and walked inside. I slammed the door behind me and slid to the floor. I tucked my legs into my chest and became a statue of pain for what felt like hours. I cried for you, I cried about you and I cried with you. The magnetized letters on the fridge which once seemed so happy, wept lower and lower until they fell onto the floor with me. Everything was crying: my eyes, my heart, even the alphabet. I knew it was bad when I couldn’t even turn to writing about you any longer. I could think of so many words to describe you, but they were all what I thought, and nothing like how you behaved. You were benign. You were there. You were just existing and I hated you for that. I wanted to shake you awake, shake your goddamn beautiful, lifeless body awake until you snapped out of it. I loved you, and I had absolutely no idea who you were anymore. I missed you when you were before me, craved you when you weren’t around, and let you have my best when I couldn’t even get the efforts of your time. I wanted you in your most original state and it was all you could do to pull your mask off when you kissed me. Authenticity. I wanted to look at you and feel comforted in your being, know that you loved you as much as I loved you. But it wasn’t real, you loving you wasn’t a state of being I could instill in you. As much as I wanted to thrust forth my heart and fill the bags beneath your eyes, all I could do was lie still and watch the alphabet cry about words I couldn’t replace your memory with. You existed, and I hated you for that. You let me love you, knowing you couldn’t do the same in return. And for that, I hope you drown in my tears tonight.

Alexandra L. Narron

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