cordelia

08

skin cells

by cordelia evans

 

once upon a time, a young girl, whose name shall not be mentioned for it brings nothing but natural disasters and funeral processions and worldwide pandemics, 

had fallen in love.

yes, such a story is true, believe it or not. an unnamed, possibly monstrous, girl had been shot through the heart with a golden tipped arrow and it made her heart bleed impossible emotions.

and these impossible emotions were bundled up, wrapped tight, and given away with a pretty pink bow on top to someone, a charming boy with a smile so wide, that this unnamed girl loved. he took it with ease, placed it in his jean pocket, and took her hand, leading her down a path where the trees looked healthy but reeked of demise up the road.

but she didn't notice, she didn't care. all she saw with her wide, naive eyes was how soft his palm was and how gently he held her hand in his. she didn't even notice the gaps of space in their hands, how their fingers never perfectly fit.

she and him, well, they were inseparable. they spent days on end, smiling and laughing and kissing, sweet soft kisses, and they were inseparable.

1) until one night when he came to her home and repeatedly told her i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry in a lulling, almost nonchalant voice and she was confused as to why

2) and the next day he left and didn't even spare her a single thing, not even the mixtapes he made so long ago, the permanent market crossing out lines, lines. no, he didn't spare her a thing, took them and strung them along (including her mind)

3) so, when she saw him, two weeks later, at a supermarket, oh, it burned, as he seemed fine and his hair was fine and the girl kissing his cheek was fine and her hand on his cheek seemed fine and his smile, his smile, on her seemed fine but the unnamed girl was a mess, if he cared.

4) and on her way home, grocery bags in hand, weighing her down, she remembered he had once told her, since he loved science so much, that skin cells changed every twenty eight days and now his temperature is fading from her and so are the memories, and so, she wonders, would he do her one last favor for old times sake?

5) could he hold her tight to him again and kiss her neck softly, slowly like he used to and give her twenty eight more days because she's all over the place and really needs a mark to know that she exists?

but that never happened and that never will and her heart now bleeds darkness and when she came home, placing the items bought in all their exact locations, she noticed something.

it was then she noticed that his heart never bled impossible emotions like hers, that he never gave them to her in a beautiful gift box, that she never had it in her jean pocket.

and she knew then she couldn't love anyone, anymore, because her impossible emotions were still trapped in a gift box in a jean pocket of boy who never loved her, who never gave her those twenty eight days she begged for, who never noticed she was a mess, who was perfectly fine.