Whiskey & Ribbons

by Leesa Cross-Smith

I could feel the loneliness creeping up on me, like a rash. Hot. Itchy.

I can see the elevator doors coming together and this is me putting out my hand to stop them. This is me saying, Wait, there’s one more.

When I locked my heart away from her, she jimmied it.

He was hyper-aware of my sensitivities and so gentle with me—my glass bones, my glass heart—never stomping in the kitchen of my feelings so he wouldn’t cause my heart cake to fall.

In the past month leading up to the kiss, I wouldn’t force myself to stop when those thoughts about Dalton trembled like smoke and ribbons in front of me.

I remember thinking something bad was going to happen eventually because everything was so perfect. I was so happy and so in love and this is Earth. Those things don’t last because they’re not meant to.