Learning to Breathe

Corpses Smell

The night was cold, dark and dreary. I could feel my heart beating out of my chest.

What I really needed to do was rest. But here I was at 3 a.m., standing at your door again, begging you to just let me in.

There's a box full of your things, set aside in the back of my closet. There's pictures and memories and things, tucked nicely and neatly folded away.

You had given me life, showed me love. Then, you disappeared, never to be seen again.

You left me alone, to die and to rot in a place that we had once called home.

You tucked me away on the top of your bedroom shelf.

Years later you came back for me but you had forgotten one small thing.

Corpses begin to smell.

Maybe you'd love me in some fairytale dream. Maybe you'd loved me in your own simple way.

But you killed me.

You see, you killed the girl who got away.