intro
we’ve shaken hands seven times in the last minute because the universe keeps rebooting right at the introduction. every time i say hello, the sky twinkles purple pink, the birds chirp, and we are back to the moment your palm touches mine. i have fallen in love with you, grown to hate you, and forgiven you in the stretch of a single, looping handshake. i am screaming with my eyes, begging you to stop introducing yourself so time can move forward. but you just smile that formal smile and say, nice to meet you. i stop screaming. i squeeze your hand back. nice to meet you too, i say. and the world starts again.
outro
to become someone better, i had to unzip my spine. the sound was wet, like splitting a ripe peach. shucking off the old skin was violent work; i had to claw at my own shins to detach the dead weight.
now the previous me lies in the hallway – a crumpled gray heap, mouth gaping in silent complaint. i am standing next to it, raw, pink, and trembling. the air conditioning stings. the carpet fibers burn my soles. this doesn't feel like virtue. it feels like an open wound, waiting terrified for the first thing that will touch it.