Things I Learned in the Night

by Emily Byrnes

It’s hard to tell men from werewolves these days.

We grow round and supple with age; a little thicker in the thighs, a bit rounder in the middle. We are so full, yet we look in the mirror and try to convince ourselves we’re not pretty anymore because the magazines tell us our soft and our stretch marks aren’t beautiful. But go to the mango tree, seek out a fruit, and tell me you won’t pick the fullest, ripest one.

It could be worse doesn’t make it feel any better now, does it?

forever is so easy at eighteen and so easy to forget by twenty three.

It’s funny how boring normalcy seems until it is ripped away.

Listen to the songs that hurt; they belong to you.

Clocks and calendars are for fools who think they have any control, so I just let time slip by and pretend everything was “just yesterday” so I don’t feel like I’m speeding toward the finish line, because who the hell knows where the finish line is, anyway.

There’s an old saying about a horse and some water and a man who leads him to it. I used to think the horse was dumb (we’re meant to, aren’t we?) but men are always giving me things and then expecting me to sip and swallow at their feet. Maybe the horse just wanted someone to walk with. Maybe he wasn’t even thirsty.

And years later, Alice returned to Wonderland to find that nothing was quite the same. Because growing up and moving on can do that to a person.