Short Fiction Experiments

nothing to do with it

“Spit in my palm,” he says before he leaves. It is blue and black and it peels off like a sticker. Deep in your gut, a feeling like you’ve given away something important. A part that was so small you forgot how it felt until it left you. You watch yourself walking him to the door as if it hadn’t already happened.

What they don’t understand is that some kisses have no meaning. Pushing your lips forwards because the thick touch awakens you. Immediately after you want nothing to do with it.

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This entry was published on November 12, 2015 at 5:07 pm. It’s filed under Drafts & Scraps, Fiction, lovers in glass boxes and tagged . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

One thought on “nothing to do with it

  1. I’m interested in the mystery here. It seems that what is unsaid becomes most important in the end. Not to say that I don’t like what’s being said. I do, quite a lot. Especially, “A part that was so small you forgot how it felt until it left you.” So eerie. I’m glad there is a part 2 to this, because I want more.

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