Not quite twenty-four
in Waterloo Station.
Hot tears dropping
into cold pea soup.
Holding a best friend’s hand
on a night bus
chapped fingers snagging
her small, smooth palm.
Wheeling a bike along a pavement
in winter
looking at lights
in other people’s windows;
shops so bright
they hurt tired eyes.
Writing love letters
on Facebook Messenger.
How many pink-heart emojis
does it take to feel
safe?
Silly girls,
of course it hurts.
You
who once were paper
are now growing bones.