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.