some butterflies
new story up on Hijacked Amygdala today
It is late, the dark has started weaving nests into crannies. I’m drunk. We’ve only known each other a few weeks.
“I don’t want this,” I told her, a few minutes ago.
And so, she paces.
She stops.
“What are you?” she asks, her arms limp from nail biting.
I frown at her, drinking something–a beer, probably. “I’m a man?”
She frowns, “No–no! You are arms–yes, legs, eyes–yes, three hundred pages of verse, maybe–but you are not a man.”
She g...
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