The next day
you could see where she had come out of herself
dark against the black
asphalt.

I saw her sometimes,
behind sleeping eyes
dark curls bouncing
head thrown back
laughing
whole
with all of her blood
inside of her.

I saw him too,
crouched down, cowering, shivering
blade held high
and with all of the will of my wanting
I cut off his head.

When I was much younger, my friend was killed in the middle of the night by a psychopath with a knife. I don’t know why this came into my head now, nearly 22 years later. I think about her sometimes, still. I wonder what she would be like today, whether our children would have grown up to be friends, whether we’d laugh together over all the crazy shit we did when we were kids ourselves. Funny how people stay with us, sometimes.