There’s a Barnes and Nobles on 86th st

in the upper east side

that I went to right after my best friend

attempted suicide.

My favorite section is the children’s books.

I remember being small and going to the Barnes and Nobles near my school,

begging my parents to let me stay and read.

I read books about kids who are the chosen one,

wondering when my time would come.

Book shelves towered over me, but I wasn’t scared.

I felt protected.

Now the shelves are all my height, some even shorter.

I’m running my hands along the spines of all the children’s books

and I begin to feel bulky and out of place.

Suddenly, I’m choking on air,

trying to grasp the words in front of me but coming up empty.

Who knew that maybe I was never the chosen one.

She had emailed me that morning:

A list of passwords.

A list of clothes to give away.

An apology.