We only appeared dead. For the longest time. Like children
playing in grown up clothing. Remember the way we teetered around on high heels
and long dresses. And you said I looked like someone who didn’t quite belong
anywhere. Funny, for the longest time I assumed you only meant that when I was
playing dress up. We were children for the longest time.
There are stories we used to swap back and forth. Stories
about people who fell asleep in the forest and roots grew up through their
flesh and into their veins. Oh how the roots pulsed with the dance of their
blood. I remember the time I feel asleep in the limbs of a tree, waiting to fall,
but I only kept dreaming about it. I woke up every time I hit the ground. I
always woke up.
We used to almost speak in tongues but only to each other.
But, remember, how I stammered each word out until even their nonsense meant
less than nothing. I asked you something but the words came out sounding like something
else. Everything I meant was always something else.
And when we finally saw some kind of path. We reached the
edge and looked out at everything. You said look at all these empty places, they
were once crowded and now they are like small cities filled with ghosts who
never came back from the dead but meant to. You repeated it until you thought I understood, they really did mean to. I never understood.