I will wrap my arms around

It's been 99 days since I last saw you and so much of me has fled. Another year went by in the days we weren't together. The last time we knew each other we had alcohol for breath and slept in our jeans and skin. Dignity and respect are the furthest thing in my mind right now and the furthest from what our bodies resemble. What I tell you isn't true unless you can picture me trembling as I say it. When you think of me, think of an empty table with no food or chairs. I wish you would track snow into my house again. I wish you would insert hope into my mouth again. I'd shiver still. I'll die if I'm with you again and I'll die if I'm not. I feared anything resembling the end before I met you. Now I fear nothing I say or feel will be real until earth lies over us. That earth will be dark and rich and sweet. We will whisper secrets for worms to know. We will sleep only when our skulls have filled with soil. I will wrap my arms around you tight so that I will be the first to disintegrate.

Ty Zhang is a Thai-Chinese-American law student, writer, and political organizer based in Ohio. He writes in a range of mediums including poetry, prose, and screenplay. He is an alumnus of the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards and was a finalist in the Boston Screenplay Awards. He is on Twitter at @khanombang and on Substack at samsaradays.substack.com.