I got onto the bus and

all the seats were full.

I resigned myself to standing

but when a woman saw me,

she stood up quickly

and tried to gave me  her seat.

The woman had a stroller

in front of her, the baby

was within it, cooing away.

“No,” I said. “That’s okay.

I can stand fine, you sit

with your baby.”

A man got up from

his seat. “You sit down.”

He said to the woman.

“You sit here.” He pointed

at me then at his seat.

When I sat down,

the child’s eyes followed me.

There was an older woman

sitting next to me and she

tapped me on the arm.

“That child notices you.”

She said. “Children always

notice the brightest of souls.”

She gestured at the child.

“This child is very taken with you.”

I looked at him. He was very small

in a very big stroller. He was wearing

a red and white winter coat.

Blond curls poked out from

beneath a thick hat.

I waved at him. “Hello.” I said.

“Hello there. Aren’t you a cutie.”

I was rewarded with an instant smile

that filled the front of the bus

with brightness more brilliant

than sunshine. When he laughed,

it grew brighter. I waved at him

and talked to him some more,

each laugh he gave me

was like the tinkle of bells.

As I got off the bus, I turned

to watch it drive away.

The bus looked as if

it were filled with brilliant

and beautiful sun. It now

filled the whole bus until

everything was visible.

I saw the child waving as the

bus drove away,

a trail of the suns rays

behind it like a tail.

I held the letter in my hand.

It was waiting for me

when I arrived home.

I knew that he had left it for me,

one last gift or something

made to hurt. Perhaps

a little bit of both-

he was good at that.

His gifts came with strings,

his councel came a price,

and his company with

sacrifice.

In the letter,

he told me that he had

moved on, he had found

someone better than me.

It was like a knife.

with only one purpose.

I’d finally let him go.

He was like holding on to

brambles and thorns,

that took blood from me

as payment.

To get away from him,

I had fought against the

thorns he offered and hid

inside the forest,

in the branches of the trees

looking out until he

had gone away.

It was fitting that

his last words to me

cut like a sword.

That he sliced into me

as I had done to him.

I’d cut him out

to save myself.

I stood, holding the letter,

running a finger along

it’s sharp edges.

The cut was fast, like a blade.

The paper became bloody

in seconds,

the shape of trees formed

on the paper drawn in my ink.

The trees  were shaped

like the forest I had hid inside.

The branches were moving

on the paper.

Intense heat ran through me.

It wasn’t anger, just the knowledge

that the forest was no longer safe.

It was done providing sanctuary.

My hand grew warm.

When the flame erupted,

in the middle of my palm,

I was not afraid.

The burning of the paper

like the crackling of leaves,

brief and quick.

The letter was simply

ashes now.

When I blew the ashes away,

the cut on my finger was gone.

I took the sword that he

had offered to me

and used it to

cut him

away.