I deleted thousands of your text messages before the temptation to return them itched my fingers, begging for a fix of a picture. A picture of you and me in your father’s cabin, sweaty posing in the nude. Back in college, when nothing mattered, I overlooked a clue about us. About you and I together smoking menthol cigarettes in an evergreen tree.

I tossed ice into the forest fire you started, observing nothing but a splash to the kiss of your lips that shook the ground beneath our feet, opening the graves of the brokenhearted. We’re on fire, love; nothing can dim the heat of this facade.

(© 2022 AC)