Swallow The Sun

By: Bella Melardi

The hardest thing I’ve had to do is consider abandoning you.

I’ve been abandoned countless times, I’ve mastered the art of it.

I’ve swallowed abandonment whole, sucked the marrow from its name, pulled it apart like stringy cheese between my teeth.

I’ve held it under my tongue, tested its edges in saliva, softened it, sedated it.

Abandoning someone is different.

because I’m not leaving the person who hurts me.

 I’m leaving the person I sat beside in the park,

sharing a picnic,

 who squinted into the sun and asked:

Are bugs drawn to light because they see beauty, or because they need to survive?

You made me feel understood with a question, more than answers ever could.

The sun unravelled across the sky like a swollen dandelion, spilling everything that could ever matter.

And you said, “It doesn’t look like summer, it’s like someone placed the sun in the middle of winter without the snow.”

You described the spring

that grows in the creases in my bones, without even knowing.

Leaving people isn’t written into me.

Bugs don’t chase the sun just to watch it disappear.

 They look up, hoping for brightness, something that feels like beauty, or survival.

I’ve seen things in you, I still want to keep.

But kindness is the condition, and even then,

I will swallow the sun for you

As long as it doesn’t burn me alive.