I put you
in a box, wrapped it in duct tape,
and chucked it all into
a pond next to the big house on the hill.
Seasons changed.
The mossy stones grew green beards,
autumn and spring,
thicker every year.
I erased you
from a map of the world.
A map I drew
of me and you.
Years passed.
I colored in islands and inlets,
marked a few fishing towns.
It is a treasure map now.
The house is a museum,
the hill a mountain.
Buried under an unnamed sea
is a box, wrapped in duct tape.
Maybe only God can forgive.
All I know is to forget.
JiaJing Liu is a writer, editor, and translator. Her work has appeared in a variety of print and digital publications, including The Awl and LEAP. She is currently working on a novel set in Arizona. JiaJing can be reached at http://www.jiajingliu.com/
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