Just My Type

by Lucy Bexley

But you know what they say: teach a man to fish. No one ever mentions how the fish feels about it. The fish doesn’t matter, only the man’s hunger.

“I like Latin. It’s not dead to me.”

“She’s a puppy.” “Where’s her leash? And her collar?” Annie looks up at me inquisitively. I nod as I buy a moment to answer. This lie is getting away from me. I need to get out of here before Annie realizes I am not fit to spend 1-2 years raising a dog to adulthood. Do dogs move out when they don’t need you anymore? “I don’t want to chain her.”

Screens make the whole world a fish tank, all of us observed and powerless.

“Do you like my vase full of lemons?” She points to where a fish tank-sized vessel sits on a side table, chock full of limes.

White is all colors on the visible light spectrum. She is all colors, all things at once.

“I’ve waited thousands of years for you. What’s seven more?”

That's the thing about her love. It snuck up on me and held me close. It brought me back to life.