I Rearranged the Furniture

by natprance

I rearranged the furniture in my room and swept the dust and tattered receipts and the makeup you left behind into the garbage. I washed the mould out from under the bottles in the corner. I rinsed the sugary build-up out of them and I peeled the labels off to see what was underneath. I put them in a different corner.

I cut off all of my hair and got new tattoos. You got tattoos and you were happy. I wanted new tattoos to be happy. The needle stained my skin and now people know me for the patterns etched into my arms, etched over burns and scars, etched over the pale innocence I believed I had lost. My hair grew back and I wear sweaters in the winter.

I started writing stories about you and me, but mostly about me because I don’t remember you. You take up a corner of my mind and your back is turned to me and you ignore me when I try to turn you around. I throw bricks and tears and late-night texts that go right through you and into that dark corner. The stories are never about you. I can’t bring myself to insult you and mean it. I blame myself and I take my medication and I don’t remember you.

I remember my glasses falling to the floor in slow motion. I remember lying on the couch in my underpants on a Tuesday afternoon. I remember leave me alone. I remember legs curling further than I could reach. I remember do you resent me? I remember grow up. I remember silence. I remember silence. I remember silence. I remember it shouldn’t have happened. I remember we’d keep in touch. I remember the cold sting of the lack of your fingers. I remember the exhilaration wearing off.

You cried in front of a squirrel and promised you’d visit and shook your head angrily and smiled your crooked smile and above all, above all of these things, you are all so incredibly beautiful and I regret none of you and you regret all of me.

Little black cat. Elephant. A baby duck cooked inside an egg. Snoopy. The warmth that filled my chest when I smelled your hair as we danced in a snow globe and my world fell apart. You thought my dream was about you. Cigarettes at a comedy show. The noise you made when I held your hands.

These were our private and personal worlds. These were the lives we created together, and you will not recognize the others, but I have lived them and lived with them and they are what created this life. I hope you will love them as I loved them and love them. I hope you will hold them so close that they grip my heart and it stops beating and you smile because you knew me well enough to know what I always wanted.