legs dangling from simple chair edges; untied shoelaces tracing patterns in the hardwood floor, the one thing left unfinished to make weekend visits that never came seem unreal. Yes, I must have told myself, he does love me. This is all I know— eyes, glassy and red, can never see things as they truly are, only putting people and events together just the way eyes need, remembering in ways that make eyes innocent. No, you must have told yourself, I could never have done that. This is all I know— shave with cold water and against the grain. How could I ever believe the red spots and cuts were someone else’s doing? Yes, I must have told myself, this is the right way to go about removing yesterday’s growth. All I know are perfectly placed affectations, guardrails for a broken soul, pain, loss, and baseless feelings of fear and shame. I am all I know, and I am learning daily.
By Kiel Gregory