Guest Room

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evan keeps wondering how, wants to know the so-called secret. try to remember what you’ve done to get this far. oh yes. day in day out, smile like people are looking. even when you’re alone. if you lift the corners of your mouth fast enough, you push back saltwater and involuntary gasps.

you hate sweet things, but that’s okay. pour sugar into someone else’s mouth. bake. pretend that the hurt filters through your fingers into the flour. think one happy thought for each eggshell you break. sing to your soon to be cake while it  tans in the oven. scratch out names in leftover frosting. wipe clean.

go for a walk when everything’s quiet (but not too quiet) and bring along the soundtrack to your life. wait for the moment when the music swells and drips down to the feathered edges of your hair, then run. run! don’t ever stop, not even when your shoes fly off and a woman with a dog shouts at you to please come back, you left something behind.

write letters to people you’ve never met, on the back of jumble sale flyers. leave them at the first doorstep you see when you get off the bus. write letters to people you used to love. use them to papier-mâché a box, then paint over the whole thing in your favourite colour. this box; put letters into it. letters that you’ve written to people you love now. promise yourself that you’ll send them someday.

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evan, do you understand?

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