Oona Out of Order

by Margarita Montimore

Kisses brimming with the blind optimism of first love.

Relief. She hadn’t been reading into things. She wasn’t paranoid. A certain satisfaction comes with being right, even when it’s something you’d rather be wrong about.

Anger can be an energy. Don’t burn, soar.

“If it’s any consolation, no parent really knows what they’re doing. We’re all faking it to some extent.”

She included the same short note she’d left herself. Her anger had left her burnt, but his wouldn’t; he would soar.

When the year ended, she wouldn’t be ready to go, but the clock would have no sympathy.