Same Time Next Year

by Tessa Bailey

My mother raised me to be an unholy terror on the ice but a gentleman as soon as I take off my skates.

It’s just that lately I feel a little left behind. Like everyone is checking off the boxes of life, and my pencil is broken. Or I didn’t bring one to class at all.

letting people close meant opening myself up for an eventual blow that I won’t see coming. They will eventually choose someone else over me. They will decide to move on, and I’ll be left lonely and reeling, wondering if I was the problem.