Remember me
It is summer and I am looking into the full length mirror in my bedroom admiring my slightly bloated stomach in my underwear. By admiring I mean I love it, and by I love it I mean I do not love it despite, I love it because. I do not think about anyone else and as the corners of my mouth turn up I run my fingers across my skin and feel like a woman with a body that is entirely hers. It is summer and I am on shrooms, topless, running on the boardwalk at night with my t shirt ribboning in the air behind me like a patriotic flag; the patriot is me, and I am also the country; my hair is silk and my body is ten years old again. Later I lie in bed and my stomach begs for gravol but my head sinks into the pillow like a smooth pebble in a stream and at the bottom of the riverbank is the hope that I will not forget that night. It is summer and I am swimming in the lake where the water is perfectly cold and the sky looks like cotton candy. I am right next to the city and I feel defiant: each str