The Old Message

They brought it back in the chat.

The photo of Marcus. The thing

we thought was funny five years ago.

I read it again. Alone.

The words were exactly the same.

The cruelty was exactly the same.

I wasn't laughing.

I remembered laughing. I remembered

the rush of being part of something

cruel enough to feel true,

dangerous enough to feel alive.

But reading it now was like watching

an old video of yourself

doing something you wouldn't do anymore.

Except I can't unmake the joke.

It's still there.

I'm still the person who made it.

The gap between the girl who laughed

and the woman who doesn't

felt like something that couldn't be closed.

I didn't respond to the chat.

I just scrolled past it.

Left it there.

Left myself there too.