By Grace

Memorize me. Use your eyes, your lips, your hands. Imprint me solidly, permanently; tuck me safely into some recess of your mind. Let me fall, perilously, into some desolate crevasse of yours, never to be stumbled upon by another. I want to be impossible to eliminate, impossible to touch-up, impossible to wrap your mind around. That lingering on your lips, that light dance of fingertips against your palm, that body of minute snow crystals, navigating a frosted sky to cling relentlessly to your perfect, precise lashes. This is where I belong.

Memorize me. Copy, paste, save. Airbrush, stencil, photograph; I'll allow whatever medium you so desire. Trace my every softness, sketch each place of resistance, travel my paths until your fingers know nothing but my body.

Memorize me. Opening act to falling curtain; every stage, scene, frame. Leave nothing to imagination, interpretation.

Memorize me. I need this much of you. I need you to know who I am, to have an image of each individual layer.

Memorize me. Do so, in the event that I lose myself again.

Memorize me. Because. Because there is no reason not to. Because maybe then, when I look into your eyes, I'll find Megan staring back.

Please remember this. My interpretations of those things that cross your lips, the unspoken utterances, the subliminal side notes; every sentence that you speak is nothing less than an archaeological artifact, waiting to be meticulously uncovered by my skillful fingers. My registration and your presentation will never be congruent. A downfall, a survival mechanism, a characteristic that leads me to deconstruct every sound, every breath, every thought. If I figure you out before you figure me out, I win. I am safe, I can breathe. Never wishing to be without the propensity to project and translate, I am concurrently plagued by it. I'd love to hear and take to heart everything at face-value. What a luxury it would be to go a day, a breath, an embrace, without pursuing the fine-print that I have convinced myself must be there.

I find doubt where you present support, shame where you present admiration, fault where you present perfection.

I find you where you present myself. Sometimes I wonder if, were the opportunity to arise, a presentation of yourself would then reveal me. But life doesn't work with reciprocity all of the time, does it?

An eye for an eye, a kiss for a praise, a stumble for a sprint.

By grace.