Voice Like a Hyacinth

by Mallory Pearson

If they forgot me, how could I show my face? How could I deal with the idea that maybe I loved them more than they loved me, that this mattered most to me, that they were okay with letting it dissolve?

I put the feeling in a painting, so something else could carry it for a while.

I imagined how her recitation might ignite something in my heart. How I might come to believe that hope really was the thing with feathers.