Submitted by megan on Sun, 05/24/2009 - 21:04
I was sad when the bruises faded.
For three days, I pressed them. To feel the nip of your crooked front teeth again, like the blunt tip of my index finger might trigger that chemical high you gave me.
At work, on the bus, waiting, wherever.
I'd do it.
A press, the small rush, the crash, withdrawal.