The Pieces

 

When I see you again, for the first time in months, I’m surfing the waves of the Red Line. Feet planted, hands in my pockets, I refuse to reach for the train’s handrail to keep my balance. I refuse, just flat-out won’t do it—even when the vision of you threatens to sweep the legs out from under me like you’re Johnny and I’m the Karate Kid.

 

It can’t be you, I think to myself, not with that smile. No one smiles like that. No. Not after God gives you more than you can handle and only a surgical oncologist can take the weight off your shoulders. (Or your breasts, as the case may be.)

 

It can’t be you. But it is you.

 

To keep reading this story, you’ll need a FREE World Anvil account. Login or sign up today! Then come back here, and Refresh the page.


 
 

Comments

Please Login in order to comment!
Powered by World Anvil