The numbers wouldn't stop feeding themselves, they'd fill themselves until they'd be lying in agony, writhing in their contorted bodies until they burst from the seams. Their memories filled the air, gracefully dispersing beyond all eyes. A flower girl with her interminable train, coalescing with the carpet of the chapel, tossing her petals elegantly above her head until they would yield to the floor. Something stops everything. Fingers tasting skin, dabbling in intimacy, unfastening its buttons with a lack of fluent touch, for fear lives in those fingertips. Without effort they muster up emotion. Without experience they successfully master the handcuffs passed down by you. The metal bedpost rings, an imposing sound, an abrupt squeeze, subsequently your critical words. So I left you there without any dramatic parting words, without a formal exit. No one was home. I put the phone out of reach. I haven't heard from you since.
i don't make sense, i'm sorry.
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