if i had let you

you blocked me on facebook and maybe it’s for

the best because i’d already blocked you on

everything else. you couldn’t text, you couldn’t

call, so you crawled through a crack and

begged me to be

a thing you could still have.

i only know your fiancé’s last name because

it’s yours. you didn’t tell me you got married

until i asked — acted like your real life

was a thing that slipped your mind.

we never met.

you cursed me because you couldn’t kiss

me — because i didn’t want to be wanted less, to be blown out like a candle — a rock skipped

across the surface of a black lake, left to sink,

just so you could see the way my body skipped

across your glass.

you blocked me on facebook and i only

know that because i wanted you to read my

book.

i hope god forgives you for what you’ve done —

for what you would have done to me

if i had let you.

i hope he can forgive me for

almost letting you.