I’m afraid I wasted all my young years alone and now I’ll have all my old years alone I refused to love, until I loved the unobtainable, the years went by and you forgot, I ache every day and ask for it to stop, old sweats at two am, wide awake at four, sometimes I leave my porch light on for a little knock on my door, my doorbell hasn’t worked in seven years, I think of buying one with a camera but then I picture it watching my every move, it sees me come in and out alone, but I could see my packages when they arrived I could see if you drove by or walked up and almost knocked, but turned around and left then I’d have an excuse to text, I saw you through my doorbell, but my doorbell hasn’t worked for seven years and I threw away the chimer, back when I had nothing to lose so I threw useful things in the trash, now I buy things instead, I buy doorbells with cameras and racks to hold my sponges I buy wine holder and turkey basters, though I’ve never cooked a turkey I buy hair tools and new sheets I buy wall decor I’ll never hang I search and search for things to buy even if I don’t need it I’ve wasted all my young years alone and now I’ll waste my old years buying and buying and buying.
Ashley Espinoza received her MFA from the University of Nebraska and her work has been published in Assay, Brevity’s Nonfiction Blog, Forge Literary Magazine, Hobart, and Orion Magazine among other places. She is a nonfiction editor for The Good Life Review.