She sings and I break.
Flood of unwanted memories.
Waves crashing down.
Here it is—the song—those notes—
Hand clenching the armrest.
Fingers white; knuckles clenched; rings bulging off my fingers,
Squeezing, gripping, relying on that armrest to be rooted in the Earth
so that I am not taken away.
He hums and I squirm.
So nonchalant. Casual. Like it’s nothing.
Like it’s just a song.
It’s NOT just a song.
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 3:29 PM UTC
She sings and I break.
Flood of unwanted memories.
Waves crashing down.
Here it is—the song—those notes—
Hand clenching the armrest.
Fingers white; knuckles clenched; rings bulging off my fingers,
Squeezing, gripping, relying on that armrest to be rooted in the Earth
so that I am not taken away.
He hums and I squirm.
So nonchalant. Casual. Like it’s nothing.
Like it’s just a song.
It’s NOT just a song.
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