The burning star tip of my cigarette floats above a puddle before disappearing into a smoldering display of charcoal smoke and razorblade pops. I take a deep breath, take in the Boston evening wind and forget for a second that it’s happened again. Clock reads half past nine and a single piano note repeats in the back of my skull. She was nearly perfect, hourglass eyes and a smile that could frighten a ghost. Firecracker soul and pastel skin. Two shots of espresso, half of a sugar cookie. Her dimples burst with Christmas red whenever she laughed and for the hundred-and-thirty-seven minutes we spent together I figured nothing would stop my heart from glowing with bright purple light. And then the look. The arch of her neck and twinkle beyond the olive drab of her eyes. Quick touch of forehead against forehead, renegade locks of black-and-blonde hair falling in our faces. And then the kiss. She embraced my lips, our tongues dancing near the frosty moonlight pouring in from the bedroom window.
What do You think about Sixteen Small Deaths (2014)?
