forgottensunset

i. I knew it was coming, and then I knew that I did not know what was coming. I wrote a firm “Vesuvius” in blue block letters everyday, for three weeks, on my forearm, desperate attempts to steady a magmatic soul tossed between thick eruption and a shattering aftermath of sparks. ii. The thin black pen felt cool and poised between my fingers. I slowly traced in spidery ink the branching blood vessels on my wrists’ white underbelly. There is life beneath these lines, beauty bound up in being – Don’t you see?  Won’t you see?  I am living and breathing, beautiful, beside you. iii. This time I never found a