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her hands were brushing my face and then her hands moved down to my chest and my stomach and they didn't stop but all I could think about was her hands. Her delicate hands. And how much I wanted to break them.
Brief Interlude
Last night, I was staring at the void that separates us from divinity, wondering
what the new year might bring. The multitude of stars I could see seemed to be nothing more than tally marks of
the instances of my life where I had failed.
There were an excessive amount of stars out last night.
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I was still wearing my Wayfarers, but I had to close my eyes just the same. Try as I might, I could not find a
way to bring the order I craved unto the chaos that was my life. That was about the same time my phone started
ringing.
I didn't want to climb down from the roof and answer it, even though I was pretty sure it was most likely
Rich, calling to see if I wanted to grab a game of chess (something I desperately needed. The rules, the strategies,
the clear delineations, and the notion of order).
Instead, I took another swig and tried to tackle it from a different angle; did I care too much, or not enough?
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