I was rash about all things. I picked a meal before reading the whole menu and walked into tattoo parlors with zero idea or direction. There were times when I’d find my warm smile wrapped around a forkful of something mushy and sweet. But there were times I’d walk out bandaged and unsure about the ink scarred into my skin. I was rash about all things until I was on the phone with my mother at 10 pm on a weekday telling her I’d found the person I would marry. She’d heard it before. Her calm demeanor was that of a woman trapped in a marriage that grew like weeds from the seed of a rash decision. 3 children sprouted in a garden and the varicose veins in her legs twisted around roots like angry claws clutching the soil. I was rash about all things until you opened a door and smiled a smile that threatened to erupt across your face and shatter your cheekbones to little pieces in the wind. I flinched. I expected it to hurt. I carried you around all day like a locket pressed hard between my skin and the thin denim of my shorts. Your voice echoing through my ear canal like a wave washing against a lighthouse. Banging banging banging against the brick as gentle as a wave in a storm can possibly be. Your beautiful mouth and the way it circled around words like a vulture in the sky. Careful and calm and ready to swoop in. I was a foolish girl with distracted eyes and I was rash about all things, and you were a calculated assassin with a foolproof scope on your weapon. So tell me, who would win in a fight? I’ll tell you, I win either way.


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