Monstrilio

by Gerardo Sámano Córdova

he seems to know how to grieve, and she doesn’t.

We didn’t so much exist as much as we haunted, and with no one else to haunt, we haunted each other.

Wouldn’t that have been a groundbreaking discovery, someone bringing a creature to life solely with their own grief and a prodigious unwillingness to let go?

My mother thought I was a monster and didn’t love me because of it. This thing, an actual fucking monster, was loved.

I like saying, It’s fine. It’s a lie that seems smaller.