Start by pulling him
out of the fire and hoping that he will forget the smell. He was
supposed to be an angel but they took him from that light and
turned him into something hungry, something that forgets what his
hands are for when they aren’t shaking. He will lose so
much, and you will watch it all happen because you had him first,
and you would let the world break its own neck if it means
keeping him. Start by wiping the blood off of his chin and
pretending to understand. Repeat to yourself “I won’t
leave you, I won’t leave you” until you fall asleep
and dream of the place where nothing is red. When is a monster not a monster? Oh,
when you love it. Oh, when you used to sing it to sleep.
Here are your upturned hands. Give them to him and watch how he
prays like he is learning his first words. Start by pulling him
out of another fire, and putting him back together with the
pieces you find on the floor. There is so much to forgive, but
you do not know how to forget. When is a monster not a monster?
Oh, when you are the reason it has become so mangled. Here is
your humble offering, obliterated and broken in the mouth of this
abandoned church. He has come back to stop the world from turning
itself inside out, and you love him, you do, so you won’t
let him. Tell him that you will never know any better. Pretend to
understand why that isn’t good
enough.
Caitlyn Siehl //
Start Here