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blown

A story written by Carlisle Sargent.

 

BLOWN

I always felt that when I spoke, it was like a clown pulling infinite colorful ribbons out of his throat. When I ate, it was too much. When I smiled, it was too fast.

The year that I waited for something decent to happen was lonely. I swam to the shore of your name and then forgot it. I punched someone. Nearly fell into three laps. Never once showed my cards. And the night I went out into the field in Pungo I never expected to see you, I just thought I might feel better. I thought you should know that. When I first heard the song, my nose bled. My knuckles cracked on their own, and I almost heard you tell me that you just hated the sound.

Everyone I know makes themselves better in a way I am jealous of. Like walking very far distances or having a good cry or leveraging their femininity in the grocery store.

When I am sad, I disappear inside of myself for three weeks until I forget whichever limb it was this time that just had to be removed and I think in my head “oh it’s better this way,” like a bad haircut, “it’s new.”

But really it’s worse. And the years are lonely. And the ribbons are infinite.