I was playing cat's cradle with our stories, weaving them around and through my fingers, plucking here and maneuvering there, and ending up with a tangle. I'm almost as bad with my hands as with my feet. Although the fact is that my heart is still the clumsiest of them all.
We ran like children through the dark, all forehead and elbows, dodging streetlamps and raindrops and tiny tiny comets, stumbling on loose paving stones and catching ourselves at the last moment. Streaking light through our own skies, lungs burning with laughter.
If all rectangles were squares it would take the same amount of time to get back to each of our corners. If all rectangles were squares, secrets and memories would be equal distances apart, and easier to comb into friendlier patterns. Easier to untangle.
No comments:
Post a Comment