(no subject)
i think my writing gets more and more abstract.
~*~
she'd send him red autumn leaves in white paper envelopes, but by the time he opened them, they were thin and dry and the stems would crack. it grew colder every year and her steps were quick to keep her warm and he laughed at her for wearing fuzzy scarves and jeans with ripped knees.
the city called to her at night, or maybe it was him, it was some voice that twisted her sleep and she'd wake up shaking, alone, with nightmares under her breath and mysteries in her tears. the city, that city, their city, she needed it and him and someone to lay down with, because then the dreams didn't seem so real.
"i miss you," she'd say over long-distance phone lines, twirling the cord around her narrow wrist. "can you come home soon?"
soon was never soon enough, and september froze into december and she took long walks at night. she sang to the stars and the tree branches hummed back and the snow under her feet echoed her rhythm. the stitch in her side felt like a part of her breathing, and she liked the sharpness in her lungs.
"just a few more days," he'd always say, and she sat at her window with her legs crossed under her, she sat and she waited and she traced designs on the frost that crept over the glass.
she covered herself in corduroy and promised she was warm, but she wore hats inside and her nose was always red. photography magazines and fashion designs, she saw herself in those girls, knee-high boots and arched eyebrows and elegant grace, she liked the lighting and the poses and the way their eyes spoke when their lips said nothing.
there were bags filled with old newspapers and classified ads, and she'd cut out words with her dull scissors, words like "moment" and "sensation" and "longing." she put them in envelopes along with the first blades of pale green grass, she sent him little promises and small strands of hope, but he was too busy to notice.
he didn't recognize her in the heat of august, when he finally came around. she was taller than he remembered, and skinnier, too, and his arms felt loose as he tried to wrap them around her waist. her sigh was honest and soft as he moved to kiss her and she turned away.
"why?" he asked, and she couldn't meet his gaze.
she'd already given all her words.
~*~
she'd send him red autumn leaves in white paper envelopes, but by the time he opened them, they were thin and dry and the stems would crack. it grew colder every year and her steps were quick to keep her warm and he laughed at her for wearing fuzzy scarves and jeans with ripped knees.
the city called to her at night, or maybe it was him, it was some voice that twisted her sleep and she'd wake up shaking, alone, with nightmares under her breath and mysteries in her tears. the city, that city, their city, she needed it and him and someone to lay down with, because then the dreams didn't seem so real.
"i miss you," she'd say over long-distance phone lines, twirling the cord around her narrow wrist. "can you come home soon?"
soon was never soon enough, and september froze into december and she took long walks at night. she sang to the stars and the tree branches hummed back and the snow under her feet echoed her rhythm. the stitch in her side felt like a part of her breathing, and she liked the sharpness in her lungs.
"just a few more days," he'd always say, and she sat at her window with her legs crossed under her, she sat and she waited and she traced designs on the frost that crept over the glass.
she covered herself in corduroy and promised she was warm, but she wore hats inside and her nose was always red. photography magazines and fashion designs, she saw herself in those girls, knee-high boots and arched eyebrows and elegant grace, she liked the lighting and the poses and the way their eyes spoke when their lips said nothing.
there were bags filled with old newspapers and classified ads, and she'd cut out words with her dull scissors, words like "moment" and "sensation" and "longing." she put them in envelopes along with the first blades of pale green grass, she sent him little promises and small strands of hope, but he was too busy to notice.
he didn't recognize her in the heat of august, when he finally came around. she was taller than he remembered, and skinnier, too, and his arms felt loose as he tried to wrap them around her waist. her sigh was honest and soft as he moved to kiss her and she turned away.
"why?" he asked, and she couldn't meet his gaze.
she'd already given all her words.