i can’t write too much about the lion because i am pretty sure he is the one, and we all know that that also means, he is lost. i haven’t heard from him in 45 days now which is a long time i realize but that also means the time for when i meet him again is nearer. all i want to say and i’ve been practicing what to say if he ever contacts me again is: i’m sorry, it’s all my fault. whatever i did to merit your silence, i will never do again. whatever you want me to do so i can see you again, i will do.

if the lion had asked me to marry him the morning after, i would have. i clung to him as he put on his clothes. i told him this was too tragic and he told me i had raccoon eyes and i told him to shut up and he said he was sorry he wore his shoes into my bedroom. he was comedic and nervous as he left, blowing me a kiss before he closed the door behind him. i was hungover and had threw up the night before but i tried to compose my face into the most beautiful expression i could muster. chin down, eyes up, relaying incredible profundity and desire.

days afterward, i kept finding clumps of my hair in my bed, on my floor. was i going mad, was it even my hair? it was kind of short. then i saw the bruises on my thighs, ass, arms and chest. deep purple that blossomed blue then faded to corpse gray. finally, and lastly, as if to accentuate the gross morbidity of my loss, they turned corn-flower, sun-burst yellow.

(like a lion’s mane).

i haven’t grown one bit but no matter, he is my statue-silent, alabaster adonis and i love him.