A letter to my friends in bad relationships
When I say, “sacrifice him on your altar,” I mean break up with him
and the gifts will follow. I mean sometimes you have to eat the apple
to get to the seeds, if you want to plant a tree that bears more fruit.
Look at you. You come to the party late, crying from a fight and
picking at your skin. For years I’ve watched your light dim. He is
picking at your skin, too. What you wear—he doesn’t like your
romper. How you feel—first you laugh too loud, then you’re too
somber. He’s burdened you with a dog you didn’t want. Wonders
aloud whether you’ll be a good mom. Look: it’s true that most nights
I go to bed alone with red pangs as if from an empty belly—but what
you don’t see is that I’m growing into something interesting. Like the
tree I once gazed at for hours. Gnarled and grooved. Torso mosaiced
with moss. Ribs home to squirrels and frogs. Feet unshod. Sap oozing
from my skin. Roots that go deep. Listen: this is also a way to be.
tree lavish with life
an entire ecosystem
all by itself
Sophia Carroll (she/they) is an analytical chemist and writer. Her work appears in wildness, SmokeLong Quarterly, Rust & Moth, and elsewhere. She is also the co-founder of M E N A C E, a magazine for the literary weird. Find her on Substack at Torpor Chamber and on Bluesky @torpor-chamber.bsky.social.