Pictured: My Ball-Jointed doll, Mindy.
Submitted on Day 26 of #SingPoWriMo2017
She shimmered under the moonlight, your fingertips brushed over her rivers and valleys, the dip and rise of her mountains, forests and hills. And you breathed hot air on her neck, straining yourself to fit your hands around all of her, trying to hold everything you wanted closer.
I like to think that she had died in your arms. It’s comforting, in a way, to know that she had disappeared together with my memory of you. I’d like to think of her self-destruction as the moment you took her into your arms.
And so you fell, and so she left and you were left wondering if it had been your fault. That perhaps, you were responsible for all of this. I think you are. I think you’re avoiding it.
You didn’t need her, but I did. She was my sun, my moon, my starlight. She was my river and valleys and she was the frangipani tree that grew under our old home, we used to climb it when we were smaller. You didn’t deserve us, no matter how much we thought you did at the time.
You didn’t deserve the train tracks, or the shared cup of Iced Lemon Tea, or the gentle ‘swish’ of worksheets passed over for you to copy. But she gave them to you anyway. And now, she is gone. Yet still, I remain.
And she smiled, still, as you closed the blinds and the door, her unneeded nothingness taking up too much space.
And you told me three seperate lies, “Go home, I’d see you tomorrow, I love you.”
I thought about how her unneeded nothingness eventually split and became something that took up space, somethings that ended up being a door, a phone, and me. I was thinking, that after all this time I should have already let go of you, I should already have forgotten that she existed in the same moment you did.
And I was thinking, that after all this time, you, and your invasive memories, your soft, reaching hands, the fact that you probably still go to school and eat food and breathe air just like everybody else, should already be dead to me.