Wednesday, March 18

rather no other

Elaborate spit-fire girl bellowing themes of love.

How I wonder how she works, wish to pick her apart. A slap at the back of my head like the snap of a floral print sundress. WAHCHOW. And I have to hang on to her like a quick-spinnin' marry-go-round just to keep safe.

I wonder sometimes what would happen if I let go, but... my safety depends on it. She is my life-line to the world in a way that no man or beast could. She is my saccharine angel, a deliciously sweet falsehood. A tease in some ways, a reality in others. I wrap my paisley-tangled arms around her. My fingers trip over themselves in her mass of hair, wandering. Their business there is of no consequence to me; my central preoccupation being the deep wells of her eyes.

My sight wanders to my Casio Love-Life. Moments crash, bleed into other moments. Minds twist. And, like the tsunami, love crashes against my beach and recedes back into the abyss, leaving only lingering memories of the manufactured carnage in its wake. She's still there, but never again.

I damn my forehead against the stainless style face of my refrigerator and crush my eyes together as hard as I possibly can. She leaves me nothing but the knowledge to hang on tighter. I don't want to lose that snap again.

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