"I don't love you when it's raining," were the only words Edmund could find to say on the phone, the way you'd find a spider bite on your neck or a dead mouse beside the stairs, "And it always seems to be raining." He'd left May twenty-nine days ago, and now that her namesake month had arrived, it was hard not to think of her. Running at dawn, he imagined, undoubtedly; medicate the sadness just like the goodness. Her single breast held only by that sports bra, and not perfectly by his left hand in bed. How easy it was to be poetic about devastation, he thought while biting his nail, it did most of the work for you. He thought of their life like tsunami footage, cars and street lamps and things that once looked so permanent, so heavy, swept up and swirled like the dregs of a cereal bowl. She cried and told him he didn't know what he wanted. Which was like scolding a starving animal for eating whatever's in front of it.
[image by Marion Fayolle]
Posted by Dan at May 6, 2014 9:18 PM
and it will begin playing. All songs are also available to download: just right-click the link and choose 'Save as...'
