the space above my ears.

The Diamond Theory

It took many months for me to uncover every artifact of truth you hid from me.

So much time wasted in the garage trying to scrape the cement powder out of the crevices, muttering cuss words under my breath.

I want to blame you, and I do, on the outside, but in my roots, the roses are thornless.

I am spiteful in the sense that I hope your socks get wet and your milk gets warm.

Beyond that, I still want you to have all the things you pointed out from the window of the helicopter.

I hope you know I do not have it in me to hate you.

So, yeah.

Go slip on some ice and then get married to a lovely man who brings you breakfast in bed.

Let him braid your hair and kiss you goodbye in the morning.

Wear his t-shirts and smile when he spoils your little sisters.

Don't deprive yourself of this for some future an ecstasy addict painted with water.

You don't want it, you feel obligated to live it.

You told me yourself, in confidence.

You have the rest of your life to redeem yourself and he does too, so take the world down together just like you planned to do with me.

We are letting go, but we were promised exactly nine parts to keep forever.

I hope you choose to keep the quiet parts.

Not the good parts and not necessarily the bad ones, but the loud parts where we really learned how to give ourselves away.

I hope there is still some of you left to give.

If not, you can just use the piece I gave you.

It's all the same to him, and it's technically yours now anyway.

Make sure he puts it in a locket.