She thinks, maybe if I find a patch of sand, cut my feet on rocks and tangle my hair with saltwater, maybe if I offer to stitch his wounds, maybe if I build a bonfire big enough to send out an SOS, he will throw pills and whiskey into the flames.

She thinks, I will be scorched by the heat if it will remind him. I will walk through the ashes of our wreckage if he can be reborn and bring me with him, phoenix-like, our new lives shed like molting feathers, counting 5…4…3…2…1…

She thinks I will carry heat in my eyes until his veins burn love.