Finders Keepers

The day after I left you, I bought my first pair of jeans in four years. They were strewn on the floor of an H&M dressing room and I didn’t bother trying them on. I slipped them on the second I got home. They were too big, collecting in rough folds everywhere and coming in sure, high on my waist. I took a deep breath and looked in the mirror. I had never felt so beautiful.

I took a fingernail of wax from the orange tin under the sink and pushed my hair back, letting a few pieces fall to the front. I turned off the lights and lit every candle I could find. I made screaming faces in the mirror. I wrapped my arms around myself again and again.

I sat at the edge of the bed and locked eyes with the mirror. Pulled my shirt off and let it fall to the dark, swelling floor. I spread my knees wide and rested my elbows on them. I gave myself a wink. I flirted careful and beaming. There was a giggle when I brought my own ankles together. When I made myself blush.

Finders keepers, losers weepers. 

And when my fingers gripped my own warm back, the rough of my elbows, the delirium of right breast in left hand, I begged the feeling to stay. This was the deepest red. A house fire dusting off the ash, repeating the bones are still there. 

This is a prayer I still reach for:
I am mine
I am mine
I am mine 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s