End

I used to be a girl who was so used to things ending. I said goodbyes so many times, but I never knew they never meant anything. I remember spending every day preparing for my recital, but they pulled me out just before I was about to walk into the concert hall. I remember taking that one last dive into the pool before my mother pulled me out and swore never to return. I remember playing in my basement; we were just messing around, I didn’t mean for her to get hurt, I swear I didn’t. I was only a kid, but I had to say goodbye anyways. I remember packing houses and crossing borders being the hallmarks of my childhood. Friendships went out so fast, you could believe the candle was never lit. We fought so much…we were too young to know what anything meant. Now I know what goodbye means — it’s the double dutch ropes without people jumping from left to right, it’s the haunted house of friendships that you still know so well but can’t unlock the door anymore, it’s the chalked lines on the wall as you count the days since you last heard them say your name. I thought when my strings fell apart, I would slip to the ground. But instead, I stay as just a memory. I thought I could be more than the sum of my parts, but I am only pieces without anything to hold on to anymore. I became the girl who made things end. I would try so hard to ruin what I thought would burn to ashes. I became a haunted house myself, remembering the creaks and the trapdoors, but not trusting myself to enter. And when I am not paying attention, my hand waves to the remains of my fabricated shadows — the ghosts of all the people and things my heart still holds on to.