this is what my christmas wishlist looks like honeycomb
TW: Death, grief I want to arrive at the New Year’s party of grief and kill it, to slice it open, hands deftly ripping apart the confetti of flesh until I find the memories of my youth buried deep inside the body. I remember my first gift was a book about dinosaurs who disappeared after the Big Bang, a story that fails to mention what happens to those who continue living. When you died, they warned me about the gargantuan task of mourning my loved ones on holidays, when the shining lights would remind me of the glint from the doctor’s spectacles when they said you had gone to sleep. I imagine that everyone eventually dies, even grief itself.
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Tinta 2020
