Skin of a Sinner

by Avina St. Graves

“I can’t live with you. I can’t share a bedroom with you. I can’t—" “Why not?” he asks, lining up another chunk of wood. “We’re just—" The ax comes down, splitting the trunk in two, then his searing eyes snap up to mine. “Call us friends. I dare you.”

“You didn’t lose yourself. You found the part of you that was built to survive. The part you thought you lost is still there; it’s learning and waiting for you to let her out again.”

“There’s no point living if you don’t feel alive. I’m going to make you a promise; you’re going to wake up every day knowing that your heart is full and you have someone who will never leave your side. It’ll be my life’s goal to make you so happy that you shit rainbows and eat butterflies. You’ll never live feeling like you need more.”

“I always knew you would carry a part of me with you wherever you go.” I bite the inside of my lip and continue, “Because you took it from me. I knew you cared about me and lent me every piece of your heart that you had. But there’s a quote I once read: Even if it is full of love, all a ghost can do is haunt.”