Tattooed Hands by Inna Mosina
Seven Months LaterNo
I don’t love you like that anymore. Like waves before a storm. Like tattoos on
bone. Like a forest fire. Like a plane crash. Love you like Saturday night.
Like “let me kiss your pain away.” Love you like hand holding with a purpose.
Like small children’s laughter. Like your first roller coaster ride. Love you long,
love you hard, love you fully. I don’t love you like that anymore.
I love you like body aches. Like looking under your bed and realizing the
monster no longer lives there. Like leftovers in the fridge. Like a Monday
Love you like small talk. Love you like “how’s your sister doing?” Like puddles on
the sidewalk. Like a morning run. Love you like remembrance of things past.
Love you like a series of almosts and shoulds.
I guess what I’m trying to say is I love you the way I love you. I love you
like I’ve moved on. And I have, but I still love you like a bedtime prayer.
It’s just nothing like holy holy.