chaosreactor

It simply hurt to be there, like a morsel of food stuck halfway down the throat. Even when I was sure the feeling would pass, I would still be there clawing at the seams of my pants, pulling them wide as a curtsy. There was the siren ricocheting through the brownstones. It made me think of the dryness of my voice, the raking of gravel. If I spoke, it would have come out as beads skipping on a tile floor. It would have roared like static on a vacant television channel. I never asked her to break me. I never prayed for such a thing. I never wanted her to exist in my mind and heart. But she did. It wasn't an apparition. Every inch was real, and beautiful, built to excise from me the sum of my devotion. It was intimacy I had shared and squandered. I would make no resolutions. Not here. Not at home, lying in a comfortable bed. Certainly, not while recounting the fractured second I knew she would never love me. She would drink the wine and pull the zippers. She would swell with laughter. Knowing was one thing, seeing quite another. As a fly on the wall I should buzz all the same.