i.
She is nothing if not exquisite, a cherry blossom riding high on the wind’s boulevard. Her eyes are filled with knowledge and experience; her ears are able to grasp clips of broken words and, somehow, restructure them into an emotional masterpiece that leaves the reader in tears, a hand clutched to the heart. She is mauve, a magic carpet, that one phone call away, a never ending tunnel of “take me home’s”.
She is somebody’s baby girl, someone’s miracle.
ii.
He is everything but invincible, an expert at “12 Ways To Escape From Your Own Body”. The blood vessels of his insides are writhing in violent shades of indigo, jungle-green, and burnt orange. He writes in permanent ink because he is afraid of erasing, afraid of making the same mistake twice.
Escape method number one:
Don’t let her get too close.
iii.
They are the epitome of altruism, bending and sculpting to fit each other in every possible way. He wants to use his love, yet he doesn’t know the basics. So she uses subtitles to help him understand, but she can see that the pyramids in his crooked eyes are falling, crumbling into rich, golden particles. Not even the flannel sheets, where they shed promises and collected kisses, can hold them safe anymore.
iv.
“I am stronger than love,” she tells him, wrapping her damaged fingers around his familiar wrists. The grass is gentle and consoling; the Milky Way pulsates in the night, fighting the skyline, the stars scattering wildly like confetti.
He pulls her closer, but his arms are hesitant, cautious. “I’m glad one of us is.” he says, snapping her heart like glass for the third and final time.
v.
He comes to her a week later, sobbing. She can’t believe that a man who has given her no emotions for three years is lying on her bedroom floor in tears.
“I want to be better,” he chokes on the words. “I want to be stronger, for us. But I don’t even know where to begin. I hope you haven’t written me off just yet.”
His love is convulsing in and out of shape, bending and warping like dark blue amphetamines, like ghosts.
“It’s okay.” Two simple words. Two more reasons to feel alive. She touches his nervous palms and he is instantly still. “We can both do better. Welcome home babe.”











18 old applause
