The Vault (a poem and prose collection)

24

there will always be a story buried at the back of my tongue. there will always be a story about this boy and his contagious laughs sitting at the back of my mind. 20 years later, you still lie in bed knowing the pet they lost when they were 16 and how he had the scar on his left elbow. 20 years later, you still know the feeling of the way he held you and the way he tucked your hair behind your ear and laughed it off like it's nothing and yet you were in mild anaphylactic shock. 20 years later, you are sitting at the dining table with the man you walked down the isle for and sure you've loved him, he's the one you need... but never the one you've ever wanted. i think about how most often, we always ended up with things we needed and not what we wanted. i always think about it like a written history nailed at my back. and how i held onto it for too long... too tight because i have nowhere to put them. and i don't think i have the ample amount of interest to let it go. the scariest thing about all these is that i have to live with it every single day, knowing i would die in the same world i loved  him in and that we didn't make it.

— nana, "it has nowhere to go"