You're laughing

I'm not

You think I'm kidding

but we both know

you've been caught

I've known

You've known that

Yet you still pretended it was hidden

Like a child who plays hide and seek

and knows he's been found

but doesn't come out

You wear lipstick on your neck

Maybe because you forgot it was there

or possibly because you wished I'd see

the bright red mark on your skin

of the color that you used to buy for me

You've finally stopped laughing

but none of us cry

Like a fairytale gone wrong

I find my prince the villian

and myself the princess who can't help but move on

it's an epiphany, of sorts

to be away from you

for so long

i have lived my whole life

moving from place to place

and now i am feeling anxious

i've been here so long,

almost three years,

and i'm feeling like a caged bird

the best thing a caged bird can do

is to think

and to talk

well, i've all ready thought,

so now i'll tell you

what is

with this sudden distance

i feel the need to run,

to run further from you

i feel the need to increase the distance

before it increases itself

i feel the need to run

and, you know, along with these feelings,

i'm also veryveryveryvery

s a d

i am sad because it feels

as though you aren't trying

nor have you tried

it feels as though you're not wanting -

you're not wanting to stick together

not through thick, and not through thin

and it makes me sad

because i don't know

anymore

i'm so busy trying to run

that i can't figure out

if i'm not wanting to, either

i don't know anymore -

it's a bit to sad up here,

and a bit to dim without you

i don't want to sound as though

i need you,

but gosh, i sure do

and

it

hurts

it hurts to need you

and be unsure of

you and i not wanting to stick

I WANTED TO BE PERMANENT

but i didn't want to be caged

I WANTED TO BE PERMANENT

i'm feeling caged

in this city, this town

and i'm not breathing

i cannot fly,

because it feels as though my

wings are clipped

I WANTED TO BE PERMANENT

do you understand?

I WANTED TO BE PERMANENT

that hollow feeling in your stomach

that sickness in your bones

the tears welling in your eyes

it may not be the same for you,

but my, oh, my, is it for me -

I WANTED TO BE PERMANENT

i wanted to be permanent,

you understand,

so why am i trying to run?

i've been running all this time,

i just happened to get

faster

I WANTED TO BE PERMANENT,

OKAY?

I JUST WANTED TO BE PERMANENT

i knew it would happen,

as it always does,

so i was running from the start

this doubt and lack of trust,

behind it all was a girl who was tired

and wanted someone to be permanent

she wanted someone who'd break through

the walls she'd built up

and she wanted them to be permanent

but that's too much to ask for,

isn't it?

it's too much to ask for someone to be permanent

i'm sorry,

as i always am,

but this time it's worse

this time i'm sorry for running

for asking for you to be permanent

when i didn't trust you in the first place

i'm sorry, i really am

hope you're doing all right,

seeing as it'd be too much to ask for forgiveness

***

it hurt, it really did. because in a time when no one wanted to risk it, i needed them the most. and it just so happened that their parents didn't want to risk it either. i began to think, as i always do, and it seemed to me that there were two options. A) they wanted to stick, to be permanent, but it's not like they could really stick in a time like this, or B) they weren't really trying all that hard to stick, and neither was i; meaning that it wasn't meant to stick in the first place, right? so what now? and i can't really tell if all this kind of thinking is because of my instinct to run, or if it's because i need people, i need them, and this whole virus thing was just going to kill me anyways by refusing to budge from it's position between me and my people. my people, being the people who'd finally understood me. the people who thought like me. who understood the words coming from my mouth. all my life, i've never really met many people who'd understood me like that. i stayed in the shadows, i stayed away, because the other people thought me weird, or unusual, or didn't understand me, or weren't on the same wavelength. and, you know, it really hurts, when you find the people who might understand you, and it doesn't feel like you'll ever be permanent. this whole virus thing, it's putting a very large shoe in my hopes for having people be permanent. it really, really, really sucks. my lack of permanency isn't doing well. i don't think i need a permanent place, but permanent people. permanent people who don't abuse me, who don't laugh at me when i'm "weird", but permanent people who just might understand me, you know? but that's too much to ask - isn't it? i just want someone to be permanent. that's all.

Moving on

is impossible

when my heart

remains

stuck.

To save myself

I must leave it there

and hope that

love

grows

back...

The attic was the last place to go, and Hope knew it was going to be the hardest part. Accompanied by her enthusiastic daughter, Sylvia, Hope pulled down the upper hatch to the hallway, clasped the flashlight between her teeth, and started up the stairs. The attic hadn't changed in years, and the nostalgia hit her harder than the smell of decay. There was a bit more stuff in there, but it was still basically just her old bed, a few broken pictures from the fight she'd had the last night she was there, and some boxes of miscellany. Her daughter lit up when she saw a bed and raced towards it.

"This is so cool. You used to sleep up here?"

"Mhm," Hope said, looking at the dusty broken glass on the floor.

The picture of her and her brother still lie torn on the floor and the few drops of blood that fell when she punched her mother in the face were stained on it. Following her mother's eyes, Sylvia picked up the picture and brushed the shards off.

"Who's he?"

"That's Wendell," Hope sighed.

While her daughter admired the pictures, Hope wandered over towards the six boxes she had grown up looking at. She opened one of the boxes and started to sift through the old belongings. Her daughter joined her.

"You played baseball?"

"I tried, but Wendell was always better. This is all his stuff."

"Oh." Sylvia opened another box and giggled. "Even this cat costume?"

"I mean, kind of? It was a hand-me-down I got when he outgrew it. My dad refused to spend money on two Halloween costumes so he just got Wendell whatever he wanted and I got whatever he'd worn the year before."

"That sucks. Is that why you never let me and Luna wear the same clothes?"

Hope shrugged and pulled out more papers. Every essay Wendell had ever written, every picture he had drawn, and every award he'd ever won was stuffed in these six boxes. Hope silently separarated what could go to Goodwill, what could be tossed, and what they'd use to stage the home for the new owners. After twenty minutes of terse silence, Sylvia, who had been offering her mother stuff to decide on, stopped while holding a newspaper clipping.

"Wendell got killed?" she said with concern.

"Yep," her mother replied, tossing the newspaper into the trash bag. "His girlfriend was upset that he got another girl pregnant and set his car on fire with him in it."

"Geez. Didn't that make you sad?"

Hope shrugged and kept tossing things. Her mother had asked her the same thing right before their fight as she was moving the boxes that contained his whole life up to the attic. Hope had stopped her around the second box, confronting her mom about once again flooding her life with Wendell. How could you not want his stuff to be stored here? You were close. Look at this! You were basically best friends! Hope had snatched the picture and tore it in half, prompting her mother to smack her, and her to punch her mother in the face. Her father had stopped the fight and pushed her down the stairs to the attic, throwing everything in her room except the bed down after her.

You are leaving! You have disrespected me and your mother and your brother's legacy for the last time. Get out, and if you ever come back, I'll treat you like I treat other trespassers. Hope discarded more and more stuff, angrily throwing gold baseball trophies and stained basketball jerseys away. Soon, they were down to the last box, though Sylvia hesitated to hand anything of her mother. She would quickly try to memorize the items she saw before her mother tossed them in trash bags. She paused when she saw a child-like letter addressed to Hope. She pulled it away from her mother's clutches and read it out loud.

"Hope. I chose your name after a girl I liked because she had pretty eyes and made me laugh. I hope when you're born you're pretty and funny and boys like you. I will always protect you from everything that happens, and you'll have me no matter what. While you're in heaven, say hi to Garrett for me. Mommy, who's--"

Hope was crying, frustratedly kicking and stomping on the now empty boxes. Sylvia just watched sadly, slipping the faded letter into her pocket. Hope tossed the bags down the stairs, relishing in the breaking of Wendell's things inside them. Baseball trophies snapped, sending angry golden shards sticking out the bag. she swept up the shards and the old pictures in her hands and threw them in the last bag before tying it tight and tossing it downstairs. She turned to her daughter, wiping the sweat off of her face, and said, "We can leave whenever you're ready. I'm going to take this shit to the dumpster."

Hope left, and Sylvia stood there stunned at the sudden rage and pain that took over her mother. She had been very excited to learn about her mother's family since she never talked abotut hem,but after seeing her mother's reaction, she realized some things are better left a mystery. She took the letter out and read it again, looked around at the empty room, and slipped it back in her pocket before bounding down the stairs to go find her mother.