Friday, September 26, 2008

really a cliff

He found her in her room, thrown across the bed like a forgotten doll. Her dress bunched carelessly around her legs. Her arms slung out like they were made of rubber. Her cheeks were as a white as the bedsheets they rested against; her fingers, such long fingers, clutched at the sheets as if her bed was really a cliff and she was holding on for dear life.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Trying to forget how to breathe," she whispered.


"Because I thought it might be better than remembering how to breathe."

"Oh . . . is it working?"


No comments: