Poem Stained Fingertips

"I may have poem stained fingertips but I have a tongue coated with a thousand pins of silence."
A refillable book of every idea and scrap that I can come up with. This will include everything from poems, short stories, metaphors and microfiction.
AKA: a fancier name than the actual word document (Bits and Bobs)

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2. Ourselves - Microfiction

 

“Here is the deepest secret that no one knows,” he says to her, his voice soft and slow, “No one tells you how the stars smile down on us, blinking with teeth built from fragments of the cosmos. No one tells you how the book and the brain fall in love, destroying one another just to get to the very end. No one tells us that the Kings have given up but their confidence etches itself into every sword, with their intelligence lying in every curve of their crown.”

“But I know them now; they are no longer secrets,” she replies, and the fabric rustles in between them.

“That is the point of a secret: as it leaves someone’s lips it ceases to exist,” he pauses, “No, the true secrets are these; how a human can fall in love so many times without killing themselves, how a mirror doesn’t physically have lips yet can say a thousand words, and how someone can fall so many times and yet that voice in the back of their minds tells them to stand or continue to stumble – either way, they keep going. We don’t know how we continue, or what the mirror says to each person. That is the true secret; ourselves.

After all, he doesn’t even know who she is. He just knows why they are there; in a hospital, separated by a gauzy curtain, with their fates hanging unknowingly on a tightrope.

You don’t even know who he is.

 

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