#68

the first time i met her, i knew she would die young. i almost hoped she would.

don't get me wrong. she was beautiful and i fell immediately into a mix of lust and deliverance. but everything about her, the easy friendliness, thick-lipped smiles thrown casually over her shoulder... i understood that she would somehow give me a reason to justify what i already knew. that the world is either much better or much worse than we hoped.

i'd never seen her before that tuesday on the 3:30 bus when she asked me for the time; i pretended to look at the sun and said "i'd guess about 3:32" and she let out a robust laugh and extended one soft, bony hand.
every day after, i would look for her, and we would hang on to the railings together. one day i found a seat and she pretended to be offended and i gave it to her anyway, staring at the way her spine reached through her shirt.
she was like an apparition. God's way of playing with my emotions and feeding on my need to feel something (anything) about the world.

i know now that we're all worse off than we had hoped. i knew it before, but she gave me a reason. i knew she would die young.