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by
Mackenzi Lee
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November 18 - November 18, 2021
It had felt like the first deep breath I’d ever taken, to tell him everything, to hear his half of it all, then hold them up together to find they fit like two pieces of cracked pottery.
“Felicity’s birthday is in March, isn’t it? Because it fell on Easter one year, and you told her Jesus would be angry at her for stealing his day.”
“You deserve a reward for all I put you through.” “You’re my reward.” “What a rotten reward I am.” “Not to me.
And it’s going to be a disaster. But that’s all right, because we’ll have each other, and there’s no one on this goddamn planet I’d rather be a disaster with than you.”
I want to be the only thing touching him. I want to be the only thing that ever touches him again.
I would teach my body to regrow my heart each time I gave it to him, over and over and over again. Heart after heart after heart—every one of them his.
I could write a goddamn opera in honor of his ass draped in thin cotton and the sea.