0 Days Without An Accident

First she is a shadow, and then something softer — fog, maybe — something his hands keep falling through. Something he can no longer hold on to. Something that is both here and not, depending on the weather, or a certain slant of light cutting through. Something that grows and dissipates — that lingers on for days, or disappears in a second. He wants her to have form, to be solid, so he can grab her by the shoulders and shake. What were you thinking? God damn, what were you thinking? He has never experienced a gone quite like this — as contradictory as this — because though she is nowhere to be found, she is still everywhere. Fog, maybe — or an echo — or the opposite of an echo, which he thinks is the sound of him never saying, I love you, even though he meant to say it — even though he tried…


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