Apr 17

My first night after moving to Spain

By minad268 | News

I just landed here today! After napping I decided that even if I don’t know anybody, I’m just going to head to a neighborhood bar and sit by the counter. I started talking to the girl next to me, and by the end of the night we ended up with a group of 5. A duo of friends who had been living here for years and three people who had recently come to this city (including me!). Everyone is spanish with the exception of one of the duo (who moved from the UK to Spain almost a decade ago) and me (American). One of the people actually said they assumed I was Spanish too because I seem like I fit in well, and I took that as a big compliment. Several of the people in the group are gay (including me) so that’s cool, too!

One of the guys said he thinks we have a great group and should hang out more, and we all exchanged numbers. I made plans to hang out tomorrow with one of the girls, and I think it’s going to be really fun! She said she knows a poetry society here and she’s going to perform, so she asked me to tag along.

Not to mention that I spent 4€ for lunch and dinner together, and the food was great! Everything is cheap compared to my hometown, and the people are so nice. I’m just really happy, guys.

Apr 17

[Poem] The morning after I killed myself by Meggie Royer

By minad268 | News

The morning after I killed myself, I woke up.

I made myself breakfast in bed. I added salt and pepper to my eggs and used my toast for a cheese and bacon sandwich. I squeezed a grapefruit into a juice glass. I scraped the ashes from the frying pan and rinsed the butter off the counter. I washed the dishes and folded the towels.

The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love. Not with the boy down the street or the middle school principal. Not with the everyday jogger or the grocer who always left the avocados out of the bag. I fell in love with my mother and the way she sat on the floor of my room holding each rock from my collection in her palms until they grew dark with sweat. I fell in love with my father down at the river as he placed my note into a bottle and sent it into the current. With my brother who once believed in unicorns but who now sat in his desk at school trying desperately to believe I still existed.

The morning after I killed myself, I walked the dog. I watched the way her tail twitched when a bird flew by or how her pace quickened at the sight of a cat. I saw the empty space in her eyes when she reached a stick and turned around to greet me so we could play catch but saw nothing but sky in my place. I stood by as strangers stroked her muzzle and she wilted beneath their touch like she did once for mine.

The morning after I killed myself, I went back to the neighbors’ yard where I left my footprints in concrete as a two year old and examined how they were already fading. I picked a few daylilies and pulled a few weeds and watched the elderly woman through her window as she read the paper with the news of my death. I saw her husband spit tobacco into the kitchen sink and bring her her daily medication.

The morning after I killed myself, I watched the sun come up. Each orange tree opened like a hand and the kid down the street pointed out a single red cloud to his mother.

The morning after I killed myself, I went back to that body in the morgue and tried to talk some sense into her. I told her about the avocados and the stepping stones, the river and her parents. I told her about the sunsets and the dog and the beach.

The morning after I killed myself, I tried to unkill myself, but couldn’t finish what I started.

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