“…take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic.”

Original Writing

I stumbled across this quote a few nights ago, and it struck a chord with me; I guess it sounded more lyrical and less syntactical to me. I investigated this quote, which I saw was written by Frida Kahlo (although the origins are still debatable) a little further, and found there was a whole poem to it. The poem is now referred to as “Frida Kahlo to Marty McConnell”, which I have re-written as an open letter. I hope you fall in love with it as I have!

Leaving you is not enough; you must stay gone. Train your heart like a dog. Change the locks even on the house he’s never visited. You lucky, lucky girl. You have an apartment just your size. A bathtub full of tea. A heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. Don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier match puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them, You had to have him. And you did. And now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. Make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. Place it on whatever alter you fashion with a knife and five cranberries. Don’t lose too much weight. Stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. And you are not stupid. You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street. 

A Little Like This

Original Writing

It was like digging your nails into the earth over and over again, and coming up empty every time. Reaching into the core of your soul, and finding nothing to grasp hold of. I could scream his name a thousand times into the twilight, and twenty miles away, all he’d hear is the wailing creatures of the night. His darkness blinded my senses whilst his couldn’t be clearer. The light I gave him couldn’t have shone any brighter. How can one walk away from a person who left footprints, not fucking fingerprints, on your heart? He set me on fire and left me to choke on the smoke, retching on the ashes of our past.

And just like that, he was gone.