Carve out the stone of a peach, tap the clay pipe against the sink, wrap your hands in bandages and bleed. Smile and cut the fruit into sweet meat pieces. Try not to mind when more than one hand pulls at your skin. Ignore the phone; ignore his smile when he answers. Pretend his face isn’t full of cracks and lines and his voice no longer sounds like summer winds smoked by ash and sunlight. Tell yourself it doesn’t hurt that much. Wait just a few more days before you leave. Pretend you are capable of being more than this.
Evocative and wistful. It’s fuckin great. Keep writing!