XXXII. Done

The Little Martian shimmers into view just as the first melodramatic tear rolls down my cheek.

We are sitting in a poetry workshop, reading, building, breaking words

workshopping other people's experiences, annotating, discussing, working

Poems flit by on the screen, none leave a mark until one cuts too deep

“Corners and fissures and cracks” reads the girl in front of me

My corners fissure and crack, but the martian’s got my back

He lets the tears roll prettily down my face, lets my eyelashes get all aesthetically clumpy, then he gently places his hand on my shoulder

“ Done?” he asks , with a sardonic little smile

He can see right through my melodramatic pseudo heartbreak

“Done” I grin back.