![]() ![]() ![]() What is a person, if not the marks they leave behind? She has learned to step between the thorny weeds, but there are some cuts that cannot be avoided-a memory, a photograph, a name. She lied, but only because she can’t say her real name-one of the vicious little details tucked like nettles in the grass. ![]() The boy is still asleep, and she watches the slow rise and fall of his shoulders, the place where his dark hair curls against the nape of his neck, the scar along his ribs. It isn’t his fault-it is never their faults. She lies there, perfectly still, tries to hold time like a breath in her chest as if she can keep the clock from ticking forward, keep the boy beside her from waking, keep the memory of their night alive through sheer force of will. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |