The Celerity of Radish Shaped Pumps.

I figured hearts don’t break as easily as they make it out to be. They’re rather sinewy things, all muscles and heartstrings. Without faith, they corrode. Without exercise, they harden with cholesterol. So here it is, on my cleanest sleeve if you want it. It has your name on it. It’s up to you now.

Aussigall

It’s not the bravest thing I’ve done. Once I know that it’s unwanted, it makes it easier to wipe away the letters drawn on its arteries and veins. The distance helps. If I were a little less afraid, I would have waited. It would have hurt a little more. We’d be in the same city, separated by traffic jams. Combined together, the distance would equal a string of promises and excuses. I didn’t tell you. It’s better not knowing, no?

But this radish shaped thing? It’s yours for today, yours for the last dozens of days. Tomorrow it belongs to me again.

As a friend don’t I at least deserve a word?