Things we aren’t aloud to talk about

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He spoke to her and her heart instantly took a leap of insanity out the window. Her body was there, visceral; her fingers, perpetual drifters, exploring the contours of his arms, his legs, as he drove with the windows down– open and aired. But she wasn’t present. Her mind flew out the window across the sea of dried grass, golden, and rattling like bones, to a place without words, without time, without distance or space. In this place, she just was; existed. Infinitesimal. Inconsequential, but consequentially the only thing of consequence. She was tired of making conscious decisions that left her heart raw and open as if her sternum had been split with a wooden hatchet; there would be splinters this time.

They will fester and heal, like all the rest, she thought. And they would. She had learnt to compartmentalize. Sometimes she wanted to love, to feel that human contact of skin– we are not alone? Other times she just wanted to fuck to make sure she could still feel, that she was, indeed, human, and not some perfect statue lichening in the shadows and mute as a rock.

Stone doesn’t splinter.

Perpetual drifters, little feelers of emotion, would stroke his leg like they were the wings of mocking birds. He would tilt his head and smile at her; a boy’s smile, his heart on his sleeve like a booby trap ready to conquer limbs. She is hopeless. He is hopeless. The routines and traditions are hopeless.

She just wanted to lay with him under a perfect sky, a soft breeze playing on reality like a heart-broken harp, insects whistling industry, and see the beauty in it all— that we are all separate but connected, and, by god! doesn’t it get lonely being contained in this skin?

And she feels it; that she is alive, that her hands are fluttering splinters of things that could be, but never will, across this man’s leg as he smiles his boy’s smile as if he has it all figured out– and by, George! doesn’t he? And there he sits, all figured out, while her heart just committed suicide like a flying dynamo, out the window, transcending time and space and reality, as she reverted back to stone.

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