Nietzsche and Love

Insane, large, turquoise eyes that did a double take and fixed on me. Long, long coal hair all around them. She was dressed in dark shades of blue, black, dark green. The eyes were claws sinking into my guts. I buckled in there. Everything quivered. I had never felt such a punch. The eyes were drilling into my back. I could feel them. I shoved the carts into place and wrapped the rope around my palm and elbow, watching her walk. She glanced at me and kept moving, her high black boots pushing the earth back. An old man caught up to her. I knew it was her father. She looked back again then her father said something to her and they were walking and talking.

Out there was mine. She was mine. She was my girl. She was different from the rest of them. I stalled. Butterflies in my stomach crashed into each other, fell, and dissolved in the acid, screaming. They were nearing his car. My feet were glued to the floor. A voice in my throat said take it, take it, take it.

A finger snapped in my head, and I blurred myself in between her and her father. He looked at me and kept walking. She stopped. I couldn’t recall what I said to her. The moment went around me in waves. The car pulled out. In my hand was a part of a torn pink envelope with her name and number. I placed it in a tomb of my memory and sealed the tomb with the blood of her years. I could not believe what had happened to me. I could not stand the hypocrisy in my head. Nietzsche fell over a tombstone and died. I was in love.

That night I cleared my throat twenty times and dialed the number. It was late. Everyone was in bed. Each ring was a paintbrush up and down my chest. She answered.