Forever Your Rogue

by Erin Langston

Cora knew she would lose them eventually. All she asked was that life grant her the same grief afforded every mother—the gradual, inevitable slide from baby to child.

Motherhood

Nate wasn’t one to beg, but he heard his own plea and didn’t give a damn. “Cora…” Please, love. Want this with me.

Beautiful

When you were born, I felt the most exquisite pain of my life. A daughter. The ripest joy; the most rancid burden. A girl, to share the shape of my life; a girl, to learn my lessons.

Daughter

She had always done what she was supposed to do. She had always made herself want what she was supposed to want.

Supposed

She didn’t want to be anywhere but inside the skin Nate touched.

Romance

I thought of something this morning— I’m not sure how to say this…— Here’s a letter I’ll never send— When I awoke, my first thought was you. And damn if you haven’t stayed there all day, pressed inside of me, filling my cracked places. As if you’d been there all along.

Loveletter

Cora, You probably don’t know I lose my mind in the morning. It’s when the unraveling begins. Every day, you slowly unmake me. From sunrise to sunset, I shift with the restless awareness that I can’t be half a man anymore. How to tell you? Cora, you’re my morning. You’re my advent; you’re my dawn. You were created to be the beginning of me.

Letter

Children are resilient; their tiny bodies graciously forgiving the infractions of playtime.

Children

She had tried for years to do it all, all on her own. Cora had tried to temper her expectations, to want less, so that when less was given to her, it nevertheless felt like plenty.

Less

For a long time, I thought I didn’t know what sort of man I wanted to be. It seemed my brother, my peers, all possessed some innate quality I lacked. But I was wrong. You made me wrong, every single day this summer. I do, indeed, know exactly what kind of man I want to be— Yours.

Letters