Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Red Wires

Like wires in the sky, her cuts overlap, running up and down her thighs in every direction.
It's mad, like New York City on a Friday night.
I asked her once to stop, and she said, "Hold your breath."
Her eyes shone, but dying light, really. Like a light-bulb that's about to flickerflicker out.
"Please," I said. She opened her mouth, inhaled, then stopped breathing altogether.
The grey walls behind her reflected her solemn manner, and I had to think back to when she'd painted them a year ago. She took down the millions of photographs that lined her walls and painted until nothing was visible. Slowly, things disappeared from her room. Her desk, her tv, her bookshelves... Even her cat stopped coming in.
She frowned, and breathed in finally, not really whole-heartedly, though.
"Can you hold your breath your whole life?" she asked. I didn't answer. "Neither can I."


  1. You have an ability to describe each situation that you write about in a way that cuts into my heart. I can feel each situation around me. It's captivating. You have talent to be sure.

  2. I mean that comment for both of you.

  3. Thank-you warmly.
    That means a lot to me, as I'm sure it does to Tia. I'm really glad you said that.