hamstring raze it isn't like what i felt when he flipped me without giving me time to prepare for the fall. the sharp sting of something bruised or torn that would take time to mend. sleeping_in and fixing my hair in the communal bathroom. his orange comb. water giving back the shine the world hadn't found a way to wash out yet. crouching and clutching a can of paint until my wrists were screaming. fifty pushups on my fingertips. sashes that smelled of vinegar. white, green, and gold. breaking boards. lucking into a richer vein of form long enough to make it halfway home. kissing the canvas when i tried to make my legs believe they were wings. minced meat and mashed potatoes. a photograph i only saw once. the nausea of knowing i would never be good enough. this is different from all of that. it's a duller thing. but i get the message. running on concrete in thin slippers crippled by age wasn't the wisest course of action. 221208 what's it to you? who go blather from