The Velvet Thread Museum (No Refunds)

Have you ever thrown a party and invited all of your close friends just to listen to complaints about one person until the night’s end? Every hour, a new paper cut that left behind a sting until you couldnn’t pretend— a beautiful night that ended in a phone call and wounds that took years for me to mend. Standing in heels and a blue velvet dress, dressed to impress, but all I did was get depressed. Whispers overtaking the air near my head—I’m still not sure if it was chess or just a test. Instead of guessing, I chose to just stand there, pretending not to know what was said, a gentle pull to the fabric causing me to notice the unraveling of a loose thread. In full transparency, I still recall every word that fell off of your lips— half-truths masquerading as daggers. I still wonder if you knew you aimed at my heart. Two of my friends stayed the entire weekend after you left, to make sure I didn’t fall apart— memories I’ve stowed away. Easier to just leave them behind inside of a crypt. You always knew how to make a mess just in time for you to walk away, leaving me behind to clean up the wreckage inside the chaos your indecision makes. This far in, it’s safe to say that each of us made our own careless mistakes, but this one right here—this was what made you, me—us break. Years of time stand between the versions of us here and the versions of us then. Looking back won’t take it away or make the memories themselves soften. Sometimes they linger, scattering themselves around like vibrant spring pollen. I stare at the sky, and the sun stared back—I whisper my hopes as a bargain. Maybe one day, we’ll figure out how to bury the story inside of a memory garden.

There’s a girl still waiting at the bottom of the stairs — hand on the door, echoes of shouts chaotically descending. Another shadow of a girl standing on the roof — smoke billowing from her mouth, mascara-laced tears still waiting to dry. A girl laughing too hard at jokes that weren’t funny — carefully sidestepping the trigger to the trap door below — always wondering which step would cause her to finally fall to the entry-level floor. There’s a shadow sitting on a poorly cushioned, velvet-blue booth seat in the corner — strobe lights flashing, sweat-covered bodies, bass vibrating the vinyl on the floor. Phone in hand — thumbs typing a poem as I watch you move across the room, feet flowing to the rhythm — watching as each step threatens to take you away, pixie dust hidden in your pocket — and hope floating in the air just out of reach. There’s a shadow beside your car in the garage — smoke dancing through the air — a man holding her phone, speaking aloud the words selected in theatrical tones. Laughter bouncing off concrete — this only ever happened when we were alone; careless thoughts whispered — a calculated shadow lingering in your eyes. I took snapshots in my mind — the only pieces of the history that still remain; a passenger beside your seat — watching as you drum along with a hair band; remarks made in a secret tongue only the two of us could understand; friction that started like two matches who finally struck the right part of the box — white sheets once sleek, now tangled and tossed — reflecting fragments of blinding lights. Another five A.M. call that made its way through a deep sleep — I guess I forgot to leave you blocked. Getting in the car like a dog being called by its owner — where’s her leash? A walk through the Möbius staircase — carefully hiding her shame — smoke wafting through the air — someone already halfway through smoking a chain. New Year’s Eve at four a.m. — you pulled up unannounced, your phone in hand. This was the first time out of about a dozen — a cycle I didn’t ask to participate in. “Hey, aren’t you going to let me in?” — I can hear the smugness sitting on the other end. Falling down my hallway — wearing vodka like it suddenly became your favorite cologne — demanding forgiveness while at the same time demanding that I immediately atone — driving you home while you sang along to songs — then going back to announcing that I was wrong. Another knock on the door — another face — more filled space — three quickly became a crowd. Another round of people that I’ll never manage to see again — destruction left in their wake — stories that stained the corners of the words we kept hidden inside of a picture frame. Remember when I told you we’re all just varying shades of moral gray? Halloween in the air again — ghosts that come back one month ouut of the year — echoes of a girl lost inside a wood-floored landing and a staircase shaped like a maze — a shadow figure still lingering in the halls — careful not to make too much sound — the girl who wore the mask that everyone requested that she portray — reminding me that time isn’t linear — it bends until the past won’t stay.

When you’d hold me when I was little, I’d squeeze the mole on your back I’d do this over and over until you got tired of it and placed me on the ground Within a year, I chased you around the grocery store demanding to know how I was made I wouldn’t let it go even when you tried to distract me or create a sharp subject change By the age of five I played flower shop owner with a bouquet picked from our neighbor’s yard A story you’d tell to anyone that would listen for decades and all I could do was smile I published my first poem shortly after hitting the beginning stages of double digits Those were the years of never-ending sunshine and getting lost in short-lived sun showers Sharpie-covered jeans, black-stain song lyrics, riding through the streets in shopping carts A band of misfits that held hands through the darkest, starless, too-quiet nights The first signs of a rift that neither of us could put words together to describe From family functions with bright eyes; sudden angry words leading to shouts and then to cries Moments locked behind walls that to this day probably still have some sort of hidden eyes Ink-smeared pages carefully tied together then locked away inside of a box The key forever lost—forgotten somewhere deep in unexplored thoughts Parts of the story that I don’t know if I’ll ever choose to speak on or to share Bleeding that left scars across my skin and deep inside of the memory bank in my brain A constant shade of grey that seems to stain the overworked edges of every single page No amount of stuffing truth between words on pages seems to keep the trauma responses at bay Haunted by whispers of conversations we’ll never have and apologies that you’ll never speak Hallways full of the ghosts of moments where I hid the feeling of shame or of defeat Echoes of footsteps from times I left unsure of whether it was final or just momentary retreat Movies unexpectedly playing of the years where I was still small enough to hide at your feet The lingering ticking sound reminds me of the old grandfather clock in the hall It chimed at midnight waking me up into a movie scene right before the character stalls Two people equals three truths—hold enough space for the four walls to safely contain Don’t let the hair dye stain the caulk or the sealants used beside the bathtub drain The first person to believe that I could be stronger than the statistical finish line of my lineage The person that taught me that money can open doors but real power comes from knowledge Cautious words spoken where I’d choose to casually nod my head—don’t worry, I agree The only holder of my deepest secrets and unspoken fears; forever my silent trustee An earlier goodbye than I had expected, but we both know there’s no such thing as guaranteed

When four a.m. came, I went outside and counted each star. I know we’d find the end of the road—I just didn’t know it was so far. The night sky beyond the stars looked like a thick splotch of tar, A skyline road leading me back to the door where we stumbled upon the start. Memories feel less like the past, more like wounds trying to become scars. How many chapters must be written before you can title it a memoir? The truth is still running away, I keep chasing it because it never leaves my radar Flashback to the argument in a bar—it left me stuck in the passenger seat of your car. About a year before we met, I dreamed of being guarded by a jaguar. It sat by my side—my only company beneath a skyline so dark. Somewhere along the path, I missed the ‘X’ that was meant to mark. How many years did it take to learn your bite was worse than your bark? Sitting in a parked car, staring at a four-story walk-up. When I finally knocked, you opened the door and said, “What’s up?” Red flags draped on stark white walls distracted me from careless words tossed around about the Rugby World Cup. Enter Player Three—an unexpected meeting of two lifeless eyes. “Have we met before?” The question lingers in the air, then dies. Calculating my safety in a room with two strange men and I— the girl you met online, hoping not to end up a news headline. Time quickly passed us by—soon enough, we found the end of the night, A black sky slowly turning to orange and purple, unseen from inside. Your “friend” stirring chaos, destruction I couldn’t quite decide, Alone in a room, I told you, these truths can’t really coincide: Friend or foe? Questions that still linger at the back of your mind. Tracing our steps to the moment we both fell in the trap, The truth cut through the air, more a hook than a jab. Angry at the attention he couldn’t claim or grab, You turned into a mad scientist, made my soul into your lab. I can’t tell you every detail of that night, but I left it sad, Sitting shotgun in a white Jetta, some creep reaching for my hand. I remember wondering if this had always been the plan— Sometimes even the truth twists itself - too hard to understand. Weeks flew by—leaves now spinning wild in the sky, Your name flashing on my screen; I pause, scowl, and ask, “Why?” It took months to realize you’d been wearing a disguise, Not knowing if this would enrich me—or lead to my demise. A year and a half, and most days, you really did try. The moments when things went wrong, I could count on one hand, no lie. An invisible thread between us, pinky to pinky, held our tie, But still, we avoided the final page in the chapter: the final goodbye. When it was bad, it felt like waiting for my house to fly— A tornado spinning, cinematic scenes stuck in my mind’s eye. You’d think, with time, the truth would be easier to find, But no one can say I didn’t give it my all. I continued to try. Two years have now passed me by - watching life pass like I was a wall fly I’m happier now that I ever was before - most nights ending without sad sighs No longer searching for the answers inside of a trash bag full of half truths and lies and most of the time, I can say I’ve forgotten your voice or that look in your eyes With scar tissues and a sprinkle of fading pain - I no longer wake up feeling disdain No one calling a hundred times for attention - no more sick and twisted games You may have stayed the same, but I chose to grow - I chose to continue to change The way it all worked out is nice if not a little bit deranged - I always was kind of strange Haunted by cold nights in your garage - you reading my words while it rains or laughing for hours about secret moments - information we chose to exchange Stepping off of your rollercoaster - I was left with motion sickness and feeling insane Two truths, four white walls, and a lot of reasons for both of us to feel shame Most of the time I wish I could change my decision - I wish, that day, I never came

Answers found in silence— blank pages flying chaotically through the air A game of chess carefully played, both players following rules attempting to keep it fair Cornering my queen with your knight— so close to a checkmate all I can do is stare Calculating my next move as if all of the options didn’t end in some sense of despair Holding in a deep breath— an ill-timed attempt to calm my nerves— Searching for answers on how to safely maneuver out of this square A carefully laid trap— one I helped construct, though I pretend it’s not there Each step a whisper, each glance a dare— until I withdraw my queen with a calculated swerve. Holding back the nervousness in my eyes and the shaking in my hands I search the board for missing answers—maybe this time, I’ll understand But the only thing that stared back was confusion and a board that wouldn’t expand And I’m starting to wonder how much more my pieces can try to withstand So I take a step back, not in retreat, but to sharpen my view once again A temporary pause to steady the ache still humming beneath my skin This game was never meant to crown a victor or define who gets to win Just two hands hovering above the board, unsure of where to begin