I don't write anymore.
And it's funny -
how years later,
my nails, in thoughts of you,
compelled me to.
It's funny, too,
how I can't seem to remember you:
your full name,
your birthday
your voice -
and yet,
I can still hear you.
I went to a wedding.
fifth of the year
probably tenth of my lifetime
but the first
I was brave enough
to put on nails for.
I watched as the glue fixed
the press-ons in place,
the scent disgusted me.
I willed my thoughts
to fly anywhere
but you.
The nails looked pretty.
Would you think they were, too?
The wedding ended
but you didn't.
Google search:
how to remove press-on nails?
Hot water.
Dishwashing soap.
Oil.
Fifteen minutes -
repeat until it doesn't hurt.
Too many steps
for something
that shouldn't hurt much.
So, in mourning,
I tore them off
by force,
without the hot water.
It broke my nails.
And it hurt.
And this hurt:
I miss you.
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