When our time comes, as it so often does, do not let go of me gently. When we tuck ourselves into our separate beds, text me something cruel. Stick your firsts through the roof.
Do not let go of me gently. I am a clumsy lover and you’re the type to never look where you’re going.
Too much about me is tender. You know this. Too much of me is soft where people say it should be hard. You know this too. It is shocking, they whisper, that a girl like me isn’t charcoal inside. It is shocking, they whisper, that a girl like me doesn’t hide behind brick walls.
So, when the time comes, do not try to be the hero. Go roughly. Crinkle up my paper crane heart.
Because if you let me go too gently, I am afraid I will follow behind like a lovesick dog. If you let me go too gently, my misguided hands will try to build us a home, will promise you we can make it work.
If you let me go too gently, I will ask that you stay.
Remember when I learned about Orpheus and Eurydice? You were eating peaches and I was reading that library book on Greek mythology, ravenous for a muse. You thought it was ridiculous, how I couldn’t stop crying. You kissed the salt right off my cheek. I’m sorry, I didn’t know what I was supposed to say. I didn’t know how to explain I knew we’d end some similar way. You, my Orpheus, would turn around. Even when everyone said not to. That love could come so close, and still vanish. You’d turn around to see the disappointment all over my face. Our fates would be sealed.
Eurydice, you were almost there.
You were almost home.
Do not let go of me gently. Do not make me Eurydice. Keep going. Let there be no second thought.
Do not look back to see how I’m crying.
