When All Else FailsThere is always something in my way— the memory of my mother and father talking to the television, weather that traps me ![]() inside and breathless, an old boyfriend singing in my stomach. I fail at loving. To escape, I often come to this diner, sit in a corner booth, ![]() where I can be distant and unreliable to strangers instead of you. In this place I don’t have to return embraces. One night, when the waitress offers me a menu, ![]() her small, harsh hands soften on touching mine. Here, her hands say, is a woman who, despite her graciousness, believes no one in the world ![]() can be trusted. I stare at my palms, thinking I come here too often, while a man walks through the kitchen door. His eyes are steady, his flushed cheeks ![]() saying he will smash that television, erase clouds, replace that song. He slides my dinner across the table like an invitation, as if he knows what I need. As if I believe he could. |
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