Friday, September 5, 2014

Two Lives and a Pulse

I can feel your eyes on me. Attempting to dig through my thick skin, through my bleeding flesh and stopping right outside my pulsing heart. Just to watch. I can’t even imagine what you see. A girl with no way out? A broken soul, wandering the Abyss? A scarred memory? A confused, shattered, middle-ish thing with two lives and a pulse?

Regardless, you don’t say much. None of us do anymore. It’s in our quiet moments that I think about it the most.

About how I’ve never gotten flowers. About how the highlight of my day is when someone holds the door open for me. About how my eyes are too green and not enough gray, about the way my wrist looks when there’s a hairtie on it, about how if I try hard enough, I can imagine all these things, just barely.

Can you?

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