My Cardboard Balcony

Letter To My Ex-Boyfriend by Belinda Roddie There was never a better time for us to separate: I think before self-driving cars existed, I was watching our relationship barrel toward a cliff without a driver. Or if there had actually been someone in the driver's seat, then they were probably asleep at the wheel, dreaming about flying and then plunging into a pit hotter than Death Valley during a September heat wave. I think you loved me, or at least what you hoped I could be for you. You drew my potential out in chalk and wrote it on glass pipes. We shared smoke signals and carved private messages out of our mouths. The swollen veins in your eyes never went away, though I think they stopped pulsing so much. It was like I was watching wires about to burst from a power surge, and I really didn't want you to short circuit on our way to the bowling alley. I never got much better at that sport. I have my own pool cue now: It's black and red, smooth, like

I thought maybe the way we moved toward each other was just a fluke of physics - that the elements around us simply pushed us closer together as if gravity was pulling from the space between us. But your body was warm - really warm. And I felt my hands tremble as you gripped my wrists. And we ignored the movie in front of us, and the people around us chewing loudly on popcorn kernels.