fade into you

I want to hold the hand inside you/ I want to take a breath that’s true/ I look to you and I see nothing/ I look to you to see the truth/
You live your life/ You go in shadows/ You’ll come apart and you’ll go black/ Some kind of night into your darkness/ Colors your eyes with what’s not there.

“You must have gone through a lot,” he said inexplicably.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s the way you stare off far away. To something that’s not really there. People do that when they’ve seen a lot.” He looked at her with his dark, dark eyes, inscrutable. Maybe she looked that way to him too.

She smiled suddenly, imagining herself looking down at them walking under a Juneau moon, imagining the party up the hill with Sam and Aidan and Aime and all the rest of them, imagining the entire town, and on and on like a satellite picture until there was nothing but empty space and points of light. And when you see things from that far off, things certainly don’t hurt as much anymore, so she looked at him with renewed appreciation and said, “Thanks Cy. What you just said means a lot to me.”

Awkwardly, endearingly, he reached over and held her hand, and at least for that brief moment, the distance fell away. Lightning bolt to outstretched bough. Flame to paper. Adam's hand reaching out for god.


That was just an excerpt from a story I wrote a long time ago, but I'm finding it ironic right now. While Stina's story came true--sort of--mine is still pie-in-the-sky fiction. Because Juneau's dating scene is bizarre. Not bazaar like a cool market where you can find a variety of goods with sexy Middle Eastern flair, but bizarre like, "Are you kidding me? Am I in the Twilight Zone? And what is up with your third nipple?!" Seriously, that third nipple freaks me out; you'd think people would prioritize.

That Guy's TO DO List:
1. Get rid of third nipple
2. Breathe
3. Have breakfast
4. Check in mirror to see that nipple is gone
5. Go to work