Matthew crept, spreading over doorknobs and into cracks in the tile in the bathroom the paranoia of purpose. We are dark creatures when provoked to dark places, and in idleness Matthew itches us to look inward, find patterns in nothingness, blame each other, and form alliances with forces we'd never bother with on normal nights. Where he walked after the flood, he spread a thick and dangerous magic that we all needed, as much as we all hated it.
Maybe he saved us all, who really knows? Maybe it was only me.
I pride myself on being some kind of hero, though after the last 5 years, I'd struggle to come up with anything I've done which was heroic at the time and not totally in my own self-interest (if the two are even mutually exclusive, which I can't say anymore). My old belief is that I'm the hero, and Matthew is the villain, for all the ways he walks around moral absolutes and maintains his innocence of heart. Wouldn't it be strange if he'd done something to save us all? Would it have been an accident, or would he have had the intention to do it?
It was simple, or it began simply. He wrote me a letter, and so peeling off one of his thousand tattoos and laying it flat and loving onto paper, he was coy and apologetic for that which had come before. It was a clever and incisive "good morning," but villains are like that. They have the ability to make idle chit-chat into weaponry and drive it straight into the heart of all things.
Eve,
The fountain is a kiddie pool. You had already known that. Everyone had known though no one had returned any rubber duckies to it. Well, I dove in. The water we said we would never touch. I found Jamaica.
There's no more half-assed evil spirits in here, only prefabricated ones and the last bit of patience you could stuff into your pockets. I said I wanted your eyes. This, this, this, over again, but never round like the button holes you had me put my tongue through to kiss you.
Meager though we are, meager though we can't. Her palms blister, and then I accuse her of becoming you. Daughters are like water.
This was the rain, dripping down the boots of some who had not known rain before. There were bells in the river. An ocean could not rise to match the fire or be brave enough to put it out. Though it was like something out of one of those darker teen movies such as that which all the actors were former models anyways. I hate when it has gotten dark when leaving the theater when it had been day when we went inside.
Turn when you can hear me speaking to you, will you? I hate when you cannot look into my eyes. Circle, circle follow circle, circle. I never got to show you my hand, and you never believed it was a winner.
Though you were confused by me and hurt by me, you let me make you laugh, and you made me laugh. Why do you let yourself do that? How can you let yourself? I want you to teach me how to do it, but also I want to kill you for knowing how to do that as well. Fuck that.
I got a new job, I am going to be a crash test dummy. I had thought of asking you not to laugh at me for this. Is there a point? You have a new job as a gas giant which admits noxious, destructive chemicals which kill. I am going to dry off. I am going to paint with all colors which are edging to pink though they aren't pink. It is the colors of Venus, appearing pink though they are altogether not. If I had not rushed off to become a fighter as early in my life, I would have become better with colors and made my own paint to sell and called them Pink Planette. But now I am to resort to test dummying. Goodbye forever.
I love you, Eve.
MBK
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