There is a bruise forming on the thin skin between my breasts. It resides in the hollow where they both end. When I touch it, it hurts. I can feel something solid behind it, something I can only assume is my rib cage. Meanwhile, the thin skin and flesh that covers and protects my vital organs is bruised. Touch sensors saying hard and painful, alongside soft and cold fingers shoot to the neurons in my brain when I touch it. I press it to make sure its still there and hasn't fled from me overnight like you.
On Tuesday during Ceramics class, I burnished a vase that I had made. I had to prop it up on my chest in order to grip it to burnish. My pocket vibrated, and I got a text. The text was from you, of all goddamned people, telling me of some random event. I felt my blood race, and dilute venules in my cheeks. I felt my muscles tense in my shoulders, getting ready to fight my way out of a threatening situation. But no, it was just a text. And I was just a girl burnishing a vase.
I held on to the vase tighter and burnished faster and faster and faster. My chest started to ache in pain as the tissue started to bleed from the pressure exerted on it. I burnished faster, willing either myself or the vase to break first. But nothing broke, except for me on the inside. Even my flesh and skin has betrayed me by refusing to break alongside me.
I am alone in trying to repair myself for this world.
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