Dear Amy,

My fingers resemble yours now.

Peeling and bloody
around the nails
from drying out
and rehydrating
between disinfectants,
latex gloves,
cardboard boxes,
and Floridian humidity.

I remember you were healing
and quit picking at them
because I wouldn't let you.
But we wouldn't let each other
do a lot of things.

I helped as I hindered.
You lied as you loved.

While I was improving
I was decaying
and I think you did the same.

I wish I died back then
and was reborn anew today
so I wouldn't be carrying this grief
and the wreckage you left me.

I hope this finds you as terribly
as it has found me.