Selfish

We were so innocent,
fragile as the bubbles we blew
for hours.

Sometimes a lonely wind would join us,
passing through that sacred hoop,
enclosing it’s own soul
within the circular boundaries.

And it would carry the bubbles across a gray sky,
filled with our secrets, stories.

That wind could steal my breath away.

It breaks my heart to realize that one day,
it stole you, too.

I remember you were so gentle
that time you eased the splinter from my toe
and brushed at my tears with your sticky hands.

So kind when you let your little brother play with us,
understanding when he cried because he couldn’t
blow a bubble like us.

We were so innocent.
We didn’t see it coming.

I’m not sure why the wind became so angry,
so violent with rage.

If I could go back, I would have sat with him.
I would have sat with him on that porch for hours
until he could do it.
Until he could blow a fucking bubble.

Because, my God, he never got to learn.

And you.
You stopped living, too.

“I wish it was me.”

I hated you.
I wanted to hurt you.
I pushed you against the wall,
punched you, kicked you.
bloodied your lip and scratched at your eyes.

And you did nothing when I cried for you to come back to me.

You just sat there.
You just sat there your whole fucking life
while I cried.

You didn’t love me enough to help me stop.

And I don’t think I can ever forgive you for that.

We were all so fragile,
like a goddamn bubble.

I suppose it was only a matter of time
before we all popped.