her nails were like claws. her nails were like claws at the back of his neck digging for something that wasn’t there. she went back in time, always and forever in a straight line toward a point that could no longer be reached. she was thirsty and tired. she had debts to pay. she caught an eye for a tooth and looked way beyond until she could see no more.
he brought her a yellow rose; it could not have been red. as an answer she pinched the thinnest skin on her wrist—it was the only way for her to discern between what was and what wasn’t. she wondered if the same pathways were taken, if he could kneel under that same tree, and say the same things without her there, but with the thought of her there.
(all these years in the immediacy of a past.)
she didn’t remember any of the lies he told her, nor the lies that she told him; she only knew that they had lied to spare themselves from the flood, and that they would never know it had stopped raining.