horizontal with someone whose smell is still new, her legs tangled and stretched out on flannel bedding. mindlessness, the absence of any residual anger and her mind blissfully blank. except for the ever clenching and unclenching gears that are asking: how long should it take to get over this? six weeks, four months, maybe eight? it should take forever, though. some of those things she said, saying them meant this should take forever to get over.
do people get over it? she thinks that people just need to pretend to get over it before they actually can. once they fall into the pattern of pretending that their eyes are focused and they had a full night’s sleep and that sixteen cookies constitutes a well-balanced meal and not a symptom of depression, everything settles into a rhythm of normal. she would assume. maybe her actions were that of someone who is ‘moving on,’ but nothing felt normal.
the possibility still seems ludicrous. less ludicrous now that someone was above her, putting pressure on her stomach, the buttons on his wool sweater pushing into her abdomen.
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1 comment:
loved this. perfect thing to read when, put me in a poetic comaa aaa a
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