Drownee

  • fiction prose about a girl whose definition of love is slightly loose

She is constantly falling for others.

She accidentally steps a little too close to her lab partner and smiles at how nice it almost feels.  She hears a boy talk passionately about drumming and tilts her head to the side.  While sitting with her peers, she watches a classmate walk down the hall, his arm reaching around his torso in mid-stretch.  Her eyelashes beat downwards once; when he’s out of earshot, she comments “Jack’s so skinny.”  Her friend hums in agreement.

Curled up in the corner of her couch, she watches movies and TV and knows that “love” means something deep and unconditional and everlasting.  But that knowledge doesn’t challenge her certainty in how she feels: foamy waves lapping a sunset-soaked shore in surges and ebbs, spontaneous and brief but as rhythmic and necessary as breathing.

If society’s definition of love equates to an all-submerging flood, she’d argue that the rises of emotion that wash over her still exchange brine and sand — meaningful at a granule scale.

A similar post.

Thanks for reading!

-M.L.

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