Car5

He had this way of making her feel like he really, truly, saw her. Cliched as that might be, the simple power of feeling acknowledged was like a drug. A lifetime of feeling invisible was temporarily dissolved by his intense gaze, and his touch. He was someone she could lose herself in – a pleasurable way to cease to exist, non-permanent, an escape from the clusterfuck that was her life. The bigger picture seemed to shrink down to a single moment – something to cling to, something real. It was too tempting. When she was with him, she could stretch the membrane of reality, creating a space where she could hit pause. All that matter

I found a poem caught between your knucklebones like a prayer flag.

some people (the lucky ones) get songs stuck in their heads. i, on the other hand, am left with words that beat incessantly against the confines of my brain. last week, it was "gossamer." i thought it was whimsical; that was pleasant. i saw the word every which way i turned:        a gossamer veil of sunlight,        a silk shirt like gossamer,        a spider hanging by a thread of it. i hate the word now, with all its whimsy washed away; the hard g is too harsh and garish against the roof of my mouth, the double s too serpentine. it feels numbingly stiff on my tongue, like some sort of linguistic anomaly, a could-be word that really s