I stand lonely, atop my flat rock, high, high overlooking the dusty desert, with its memories and bones. In my hand is my lovekite, all straining colors and tailed with the ribbons of hearts I have shredded over the years. The kite dips and swirls, and masterfully I control its passions, giving into the wind, pulling back at exactly the right moment to decorate the sky with oohs and aahs of wonderment. I am in control, my mouth set like stone, my veins pulsing.
First you were just hair, then forehead and eyebrows; your wide-apart eyes came into view, nose, mouth, chin, determined; your fingernails, fingers, hands, wrists hauling you up and over the edge of the rock. Now you stand before me, dusting yourself down, hair fiery in the sunlight. As you reach over your shoulder to detach your backpack, your sweater rides up and I see the jag of your hip bone, the soft of your belly. I know I am undone. You draw from your pack a geologist’s hammer and a set of sharpened chisels. I’ve come to break your heart, you tell me. I have trained for this.
I am ready, I reply unhanding my kite, the sudden release of tension rocking my equilibrium. We watch as it flips wildly, spastically, a caged bird freed, a motherless child, crying in fear. All my ribboned hearts tear apart and whip off in several directions, in several states of panic. My shaking, string-burned fingers, fumble to undo my buttons, and I remove my shirt. You select a chisel and our eyes meet. This desert too, shall flood.
(Source: grumpyskunk)
Via, grumpyskunk
