chicken scratches

My heart feels funny in my chest, stimulated by the recognition of your face under your haircut. Funny in which way? Not comical. Peculiar is probably a good description. Abnormal. Almost like the sensation of butterflies kicking in your stomach right before a game or performance. But, higher up, rattling about this rib cage that longs to still be held by you. Because I still think that these bones of mine and the bones of your’s would find that they still fit perfectly- the two pieces of a human puzzle. And I wish so badly that things could be that simple. See, we’re more than just skeletal substance and chemicals, don’t you feel that? I do, which probably has a lot to do with the wild beating of my heart which seems to shake my entire being and makes these markings on this page like chicken scratches.


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