The Fabric of Our Souls

by K.M. Moronova

Whoever coined the phrase “sticks and stones” is an asshole, don’t you think? Words indeed hurt more than stones. Thanks for trying to gaslight me out of it though.

There will never be a way to explain why I am this way. It’s something that you endure wholly, entirely. A deep and empty pit inside your flesh that never closes, no matter what you try to fill it with. No matter what thread you try to sew it shut with, it gapes and itches. An emergency exit that waits patiently for any who stray.

Avoidance has always been my coping mechanism. If I don’t think about it, it doesn’t matter. My day goes on.

But I’m so tired. How do I tell him I want to sleep forever? In a bed of roses or in a goddamn urn, it doesn’t matter—anywhere but here will do. I’m burning inside, and it hurts. I just want to stop hurting.

“For anything. Someone, something, anything. Wait for a devil like me if you have to.”

“You should wait… and it doesn’t have to be for anything specific. I’m just saying—wait for the weight of the world to pass. Wait until the tremors that wrack through your skull drift into the depths again. Wait until the sun rises, and the light makes you feel a little less pointless.”

Almost… like he gets it. “What if waiting doesn’t work?” I whisper. Liam smiles easily at me. His presence is like an eerie forest. I want to stay for a while and sit quietly in his dreary gravity. “You let me know and I’ll hold you until the darkness fades.”

I frown as the dread of this place starts sinking into me. It looks a lot like a fancy hotel, except this place is depressing. Gray walls, black floors, gray everything else. It could just be in my head since I know it’s not some cool vacation spot. I know the people that dwell in here are sick. We are the ghosts here.

I wouldn’t mind staying in this room for a while and just existing for a tiny, insignificant moment.

eyes find mine again. His grin is intoxicating. “Sure, you keep telling yourself that, sunshine. Your dead eyes give you away.” My dead eyes… I’ve never really figured out how to smile with my eyes. How do you hide your weary soul?

The fabric of our souls is thin—we’ve been wandering this world just to unite in this small corner of the universe.

“She’s special, Liam. I know you like her, but be careful. Her mind is her worst enemy and love might be too overbearing on fabric as thin as hers.”

“Fabric as thin as hers?” “Yeah, her soul is like chiffon, with plenty of tattered rips and tears. The fabric of our souls is thin and worn. We must be gentle and love tirelessly.”

“Hers is so beautifully torn that even wolves like us are drawn to it.”

Every vehicle down here costs more than what I made in a year at my old corporate job. Sad. I sold my soul at that job and what did it get me? More depression and more heart pills.

“It is a bit morbid, isn’t it?” I say as I caress one of the dry petals. “I think it’s because it makes me happy to see something that was once so beautiful in life be just as pretty, if not more so, in death. Forever beautiful.”

Lanston Nevers “The Fabric of our Souls is thin and worn. We must be gentle and love tirelessly.”