“Why am I single?” —Meghan F., Kissimmee, FL
Today, her palm print blisters everywhere she touched. I try and steal back every breath she took, but my lungs act like the Wet Bandits.
I fold everything into arks as the room fills. I fold the arks into nuclear reactors, breach every core. This will keep her from coming back, keep me from running after her, keep the Geiger counter from lapsing into Morse code.
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