august was more like rain and wind but never really a storm. maybe autumn came early this year.
i had my heart broken twice. once was when you came home high and spilled something that made me feel like drowning, and then on my twenty-first birthday when rum and wine brought out different kind of words that sunk in my skin like tiny knives, as if you knew where to press to make the tears come out.
it was 5 am and i was sitting on our tiny kitchen table, salty water like an ocean pouring on my cheeks, wishing i could sleep away the sadness and pretend that nothing happened at all.
"i think you are sad and everything else is just a mask,"
i fell off a bike at night and the blood on my legs was like a smear of dark red mud. you said it would leave no marks, yet my knees are still bearing the blotches that once were terrible wounds.
(so far, my body has kept all the sixty-three scars it has ever received)
"and i don't know if even i am able to save you from this dark."
i have new ink on my arm, it's something i've wanted for a while.