Words about M
“How much do you feel?”
I don’t understand the question. It rolls off her tongue so easy.
“I’m starting to feel like I don’t feel anymore. Like the whole world has it figured out. But I don’t. I see people that just do things and I don’t understand how they got there or here or anywhere. It makes no sense. I think I’m going to throw up.”
We’ve had too much to drink. My eyes cross and I try not to listen as she vomits in the bathroom.
Her lips taste acidic. I ask her to brush her teeth.
“I did,” she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, looking down at the dust covered floor. “I’m sorry.”
She looks at me and her amber eyes stab my heart. Compassion zips through my veins. I am defeated.
We lay down and her hands are cold. I try not to cringe as she touches my bare skin, warming herself.
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.”
“Can’t help it.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I have a lot to be sorry for, I guess.”
I kiss her. “We all do.”
