Diary
After she leaves me, I start to stitch song lyrics into my skin with a needle and thread. It is stunningly pathetic, which suits my mood just fine. The words aren’t profound, either, they’re not full of depth. On my thigh, for instance, cross-stitched just above a rather concerning mole, are the words “The one that got away” in a sweeping, loud-mouthed cursive. It took days to complete because of how much it hurt, and, of course, all the blood.
I will do this, with phrases and lyrics and cringey journaled thoughts, until every patch of my flesh is bound by cotton string. Then, I will pull the first piece out, gentle and slow. I will reel all the thread back out of me again. It will feel like windstorms.
Believe me, this is how you move on.
Kara Crawford holds an MFA from George Mason University. She is a co-founding editor of Chatterbox!, and a senior reader for Ploughshares. Her work has appeared in Cream City Review, TriQuarterly, Pinch, Ghost Parachute, and elsewhere. She was born and raised in Manassas, Virginia, and now lives in Pittsburgh. You can visit her website at kara-crawford.com or follow her on Instagram at karacrawford3.