to the holes in my butterfly wings

Words by: Soraya

I thought about you today.

As I wandered around the supermarket’s aisles, a song suddenly played, and you instantly popped into my mind. It was ten in the morning, and thinking about you was new because it usually happens at midnight while I lie alone on my bed. My days are too busy for memories of the past that even breakdowns need to be scheduled.

I have no grocery list. I don’t need to buy anything. I just needed to be there, walking along the aisles, browsing through products, observing people, and trying to figure out their stories. It was a new coping mechanism I developed last year, but you don’t know that. You didn’t get to know. That thought is like a block in my arteries — admitting the sting is like an obstacle I frustratedly had to get past as I walked along the dairy to the beverages section.

You live a jeep ride away from me in this city, but living in different worlds and leading different lives permitted fate to never let us cross paths. I know we won’t even bump into each other when we go back home to our small town.

Your online presence is close, but chatting feels far away, like memories fading into echoes. Your name, once the Titanic of my inbox, has already sunk below others. Yet, I find joy in your accomplishments on Instagram, silently cheering you on from a distance. We might not be part of each other’s young adult chapters, but we were girls together.

As I approached the cashier, an urge to reach for my phone surfaced, but the matcha-flavored latte and nail polish in my hands restrained me. The song was nearing its end as I stood in line at the cashier with the words I’ll write later when I get home already brewing in my mind. I thought of how I don’t usually write about something so personal straightforwardly and how maybe this time I would.

I don’t want to point fingers anymore. I’d like to close this chapter with none of us to blame. Maybe it’s just because we got older, but our relationship didn’t grow up with us.

Had the world been kinder, we might have remained friends.

I guess we aren’t the fortunate ones who could have everything. There are things that we can’t afford to have. Even if you try bringing it to the grocery line, you’ll decide to leave it behind to give way to the ones you need. It may hurt to walk out of the supermarket without it, but you’ll eventually realize that prioritizing what you need makes you kinder to yourself.

I love you because we were girls together.

We were girls together. And I guess you will always be in every piece I write about love and friendship — hidden between the lines but bleeding within every word.