We Are Not The Same. But We

Four Sits Down On The Edge Of The Carousel, Leaning Against A Plastic Horse's Foot. His Eyes Lift To The Sky, Where There Are No Stars, Only A Round Moon Peking Through A Thin Layer Of Clouds. The Muscles In His Arms Are Relaxed; His Hand Rests On The Back Of His Neck. He Looks Almost Comfortable, Holding That Gun To His Shoulder. I Close My Eyes Briefly. Why Does He Distract Me So Easily? I Need To Focus.

By The Time We Leave, I Have Red Lips And Curled Eyelashes, And I’m Wearing A Bright Red Dress. And There’s A Knife Strapped To The Inside Of My Knee. This All Makes Perfect Sense.

A Chasm Reminds Us That There Is A Fine Line Between Bravery And Idiocy.

I've Done Without Doing Things, Like Sleeping And Eating, But I Need To Write.

He Gives Me A Conflicted Look And Touches His Lips To My Forehead, Right Between My Eyebrows. I Close My Eyes. I Don't Understand This, Whatever It Is. But I Don't Want To Ruin It, So I Say Nothing. He Doesn't Move; He Just Stays There With His Mouth Pressed To My Skin, And I Stay There With My Hands On His Waist, For A Long Time.