the girl who owned the void

prose, writing

The antlers went clear through your chest. It’s not so bad; you were the one being hunted after all. There is no more fun inside of you, it’s all tumors these days. And that’s not what you wanted. Who would? The body and the memory of the body. You’re at the big glass table with so many envelopes. This was the first year without any valentines, for you or from you.

There is something sticking to your ribs. There is something in there, and you can’t get it out. You tried with the fishhooks, or was it the top of that fence? You told me it just missed your heart, and now you have a hole where the fatty remnant leaks through. Is she a she at all?

So, okay, you’ve changed a little. That’s fine. Okay, maybe you don’t wash your hair as much as you used to. Maybe you wear the same clothes all the time. Maybe you can’t sleep. Okay. That’s okay. It just didn’t work out very well. That’s fine.

I tried substituting something for a feeling that wasn’t so condensed. It was lacking; not quite as filling, of course. But it’s supposed to sustain me longer. I don’t know. I’m not really feeling anything. What’s going on with you?

The grinds keep getting in. Acids constrict the cells of the meat, break it down. You don’t want that. Last time we spoke, you didn’t want that. I mean, you said you didn’t. I don’t actually know what you want and that’s really the problem. I want you to know everything I know.

You are the blue curtain and I am the light trying to shine through. The fabric of space and time always bends when you’re added to it, and you follow the curve that you created simply because nothing else in the universe stops you. And since you’re there, you know what happens? The light bends around you, because you’re there. So even if I could get to you, it would always go around. Around, around. Always around.

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