my anger is your mirror (tupelo_lights) wrote in tellmeastory,
my anger is your mirror

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like making wishes on the streetlights, one by one

We're leaning up against the wall of her apartment as though leaving it would mean leaving one another. Or at least it seems that way to me; for all I'm here for, she might not even notice.
Then she asks, "Don't you think it's tragic, the way the lightening flashes before you hear it coming?"
"Marion," I start, but she's staring out onto the street below, quiet-like for the first time since the shaking stopped, and she's speaking in real words now so I just watch her.
She feels cold and thin and breakable as a windowpane, the image on the other side of her obscured by the water that pours down the glass.
"I love this," she whispers.

I don't tell her that it isn't raining.
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