Paint me a picture, she said.
Swirls of colour spreading on canvas. Light touches the places where her tears fall. Maybe we can piece this thing together. This ethereal thing that comes between us as if a knife through skin. Piercing, bloody and torn – us. Can this thing ever be repaired? I want to believe it can. This thing pokes and prods and makes fun. Of me. Of you. Of our life together. Once a fine thing but now a thing outdated. Old. Ephemeral. A temporary moment blown away in the heat of passion.
Copyright (2023) MJ Christie
First published in: A Short Book of Drabbles: With a Little Extra on the Side