"3840" - Her
IRENE You feel in the dark her soft hands, rose without thorns. Your own, however, are rough. They feel as though they were a stranger's. Your body, really, is not yours. She doesn't know this, and so you run, across country, to keep her safe from your own fear. Even now, in this life after death, you do not belong in your own skin. Seems as though the cycle has been repeated. How unfair. You storm across your prairie, disturbed by this realization, creating your own corner of this world. It's lonely, scaring the shit out of interlopers, but lonely is better than hurt. |