Wish You Weren't Here

by Gracie Ruth Mitchell

“I’ve existed for much, much longer than that.” “Existing,” I tell him, “is not the same thing as living.”

Perhaps that’s what being human really is, I think as I go into the bathroom and stare at my tattoo-free chest instead—feeling things, all the time, and never conveniently.

“I’m barely paying attention to this conversation,” he says, exhaling roughly. “My mind is consumed with you. So please—” His voice cracks. “Please tell me if I can kiss you, because I’m finding it difficult to breathe.”

there’s power in names, in naming—in defining someone in a way that’s purely theirs. A name gives you a sense of self.

“And where are the stories about people who want to read about conquering dragons instead of doing the actual conquering? I don’t want to fight dragons!”