Unsent Messages

for the past four years you have been woven in & out of my life. freshman year to freshman year. season into season; here for one, gone for the next.

they say it takes seven years to grow all new skin cells. every time we end, i think how long it will have been since you last touched me. how much longer it’ll be until i’m a version of me without you tucked into tiny corners of my being. 14 months at the longest; though another boy held me, i often thought of you. two days at the shortest.

it’s only been a little over a month, but tonight in the shower as i lathered up, my mind drifted to thoughts of you.

in june, a girl i met on tinder read my tarot cards. i asked about college. for the good, she told me someone would enter my life. someone vain. someone dishonest. she told me this person would teach myself a very positive lesson about who i am & who i wanted to be. i thought, at the time, it was absurd. how could that ever be good?

as i scrubbed my body, my skin began to shed.

this afternoon as i drove home in the pouring rain, i passed under a bridge. for a moment, everything stopped. i was protected from the rain. i recall you being my bridge. my safety net from the thunderous world outside.

i scrubbed harder, dead skin flaking off, my skin raw & red.

two weeks ago, sobbing so hard, i started to hyperventilate. every part of me ached for you. my fingers gravitating to my phone, fingers dancing around the numbers in a pattern that belonged to you. i cried out your name in pain, in agony. i thought, only if you could hold me, all this pain would go away.

but i was a month in. 83 months to go.

my skin swirls down the drain.

two months ago we were sat on my bedroom floor, eating cheerios out of mugs, sharing smiles & kisses, while you whispered i’m the one.

i wrapped my towel tight around my body, drying off the stains you left.

they say it takes seven years to grow completely new skin, but tonight i shed every surface you had ever touched.