| One gentle foot at a time, he walked barefoot across the floor that is my life. Things on the surfaces rattled. Teacups against their saucers, saucers against their trays. One gentle word at a time, he spoke delicate tones into the air around my life. Soundwaves buzzed the air. Buzzed the bones in my head, squeezed the breath from my lips. Stolen. One gentle finger at a time, he took hold of the hand that is my life. Nerves registered. A tickle above my pulsebeat, the pulse beneath my skin. His skin. Now a car comes by. The vibration of its passing feels like him. A migraine forms, not far off. The throb of it feels like him. People chatter. The clatter of their distant conversation feels like him. Now he is the feeling of a ghost in the room. He is the smoothing of a beach by tidewater in the middle of the night. I love him. He stilled me, made me listen, made me love the secret life of the things we never speak. |
| The Girl's Nobody |
|
| by Chloe Meakin |