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This year, I took my sister Monica's boyfriend. It's still red. It hurts on the inside, but I'd like to go there some day.

I can have him if I want him bad enough, once an informal thought, and now a power play. I knew he would take her there—Grace that is—the place where all fabled missing children are never found, and where people wish on their fantasies as if God takes donations in the form of loose change. I hope she remembers this forever, falls for forever for you, down it.

I hope you see me and her differently. I hope you choose me now, even if you end up with her later. I grip my teeth to feel a new gap.

You'd left it in our clashing. I was slipped, fallen between something heavy and something to be forgotten, hitting a blind spot in my own reasoning. You're the gap in everything.

These were the last things I thought as I fell into the world's mouth. It felt like seeing down the center of your pupil. I never trusted people with blue eyes. I'm not dead yet just maimed. Monica saw me fall, and I hope it was like looking in a mirror.

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