This Gives Away Nothing
Something close to hope glistened along the horizon of her mind, nagging at her with soft persistency like a small child demanding a mother’s attention. She was waiting. She was waiting for the curves of his breath to float in twisted disarray towards her and take form of beautiful ordinary words, perhaps caked with something like reasoning or even the vague sound of happiness.
She picked the small scab on her ankle, opening up a sore the size of a pea. Blood pooled in a small bubble, balancing precariously on the surface of her skin. She touched it, releasing the fresh pomegranate red and watched as it ran down her foot as if in a hurry to get somewhere. Anywhere but near her.
She often wondered if he thought she was a joke, wanting to preserve his words every time they left his mouth as if they were candy coated, sacred. As if all the O’s were rings made of gold and the L’s perfect little ninety degree angles, precise enough for her to sit in the crook where vertical met horizontal. As if his words could heal everything.
This gives away nothing, she thought. But she was still allowed to hope.
Your descriptions and imagery are so profound! In such a small combination of words, you have managed to paint such a picture! I think this is fantastic!
ReplyDeleteThanks so much Pones!
ReplyDelete