Tessa lets her tears slip down her cheeks. To feel
them streak- like flipping paint over a blank canvas
in her room. The white sheet below polka dotted
in reds, purples, greens, and blues.
I don’t know what it’s like to let paint slide, let the
streams stick wet. Let the moment stay visible over
my skin. I swipe with my hand as soon as they form.
I pretend they leave when they disappear, but Tessa
knows the warmth in letting them breathe. The peace
in letting them sink until they drop.