By: Ntombizodwa Jowena Qwabe

I found a letter in the pocket of the past I keep carrying around,

Waiting for you.
(As if you were the sunrise)

The messiah to my aching bones
… The oasis to my dark tunnels.

And as I held myself together trying not to tear apart? …I felt my lungs collapse at the memory of how badly you broke me.
How I had to pretend that people are supposed to look like this.

Too grown up to need the kind of magic you could rub between your teeth while you spoke to the stars about all the butterflies you kept in the pits of all the darkness you couldn’t stop swallowing.
(And I couldn’t stop swallowing)

All the flashbacks I kept tucked inside my pockets.

Do not feed the monsters

The nymphs too beautiful to stay with your ugly,
The glass slippers left in the storms of everybody who couldn’t fit

We fit.
So well.

I remember writing that letter,
Between the sick and shake and wet pillow and no sunrise and unanswered texts
And all I could think about,
Was why didn’t you text me back.

Nobody ever texts back anymore.
Nobody ever stays.