She stood at the bus stop eating her heart. Crunching at the hardened bits, like an apple or an un-ripened pear. “I need to see something beautiful!” she cried, or would have cried if she were able. If she were not too far gone. She stood in the graying light of the early evening, of a coming storm, awaiting a bus. A return to a house where a body lived, taking up space. She needed to learn to be smaller. She needed to add this to her list: wash the dishes, take out the trash, never leave your shoes out, don’t use sarcasm - its not funny, don’t eat sweets, buy nonfat milk not 2 percent, be smaller. Be small. She nibbled at the core as a hooded teenager looked on. She hated waste. A perfectly good heart. Wasted. Wasted away.
No comments:
Post a Comment