Sunday, April 7, 2024

A Moment, Frozen by Skaja Evens

I hate the person I become when I am with you.

Silly, naive girl believing that if I love you enough that you’ll be who I think I want.

We are dangerous, toxic in glaringly obvious ways that are best seen from a distance.

The self-awareness I cultivated for other reasons offers a lifeline out of the labyrinth.

I tell myself that I'm done sacrificing myself, pretending I'm not riddled with tiny paper cuts. The aftermath of your words.

I’m twisted in knots as I carefully consider my words and how to dance within the landmine-ridden framework that is you.

I patch myself up with tears and self-loathing, and some perverse belief that since I’ve been mistreated for so long, what’s a little bit more?

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, if you believe the cliché.

Do all of the good things make up for the weight of regret?

Like the cheating man promising his mistress that he’s gonna leave his wife, I swear someone crossed their fingers when looking for the faintest glimmer of hope that waiting it out will make things better. Make things worth the misery.

What’s more likely is years of a frozen moment in time. Years lost because of acceptance of what we wanted wasn’t good enough, but we thought we deserved.


Skaja Evens is a writer, publisher, and artist living in Southeast Virginia. Publication credits include Spillwords Press, Medusa’s Kitchen, Ink Pantry, Off the Coast, The Crossroads Lit Magazine, The Rye Whiskey Review, Synchronized Chaos, and Blue Pepper. Her first book, conscientia veritatis, from Whiskey City Press, was recently published and can be found here: