I had to stop drinking so I went in the only direction I could think of, which is up. Applied to every graduate school east of the Mississippi. There is a boy here that I taught really hard to love me back. He does not recognize the perfect shape of collar bone.
In the spring when they announce my acceptance I will not tell them about the cancer hanging from limbs, the deaths like spiders, the love lost. I will pack a small suitcase, scoop my life inside the lines, step on a train, and become someone completely different. I will have stopped smoking then. Falling in love with every other stranger and calling it brave.
The truth is I had to stop crashing my bike. I had to stop turning my liver over in her rubber life giving force. Make room for other vices besides disappearing into myself, besides making tiny little lists of everything I've had to eat. The truth is, I don't care if I'm missed. I don't care if you ever think of me at all. I've already sat alone in the diner, seen London and the lights, slept alone in a tent. I care very little for the things I own. I care very little for the skin on my knees. In the meantime, hold onto my heartaches. Hold on to that photograph of me laughing behind your bike.