Sometimes She Had Dreams About Being in Love
By Michael Frauenhofer
She says she only ever fell in love once. He bends over the dirty glass bottle and makes it submerge. The water is light gray and speckled with hair, bits of paper, a cough drop. When he pulls out the bottle and sucks, all the water churns back and the bucket is full. He was pretty she says. And he wrote her such beautiful poems. In the big empty room someone laughs. It didn’t last she says. He sticks his tongue in and out and makes fists. It is ugly but the medicine works. So she tries to get used to it. He is still beautiful she says. But he stopped writing poems. Someone plays with their lighter, puts the flame in and out. She says it was a bad year. He says he feels like the blade. They just give their love the only way they know how to and it cuts and it hurts. But when he smokes he feels better. He is doing his best she says. What is a disease anyway. Someone is playing guitar and the metal strings cut into their skin. Sometimes you just have to walk away she says. He curls up in a ball in the corner and tries not to breathe as the room fills with gas. He can hear them outside knows they poisoned his food. He calls her on the phone and he cries says it’s starting again. Sometimes love is running away she says. I don’t know what to do. In the big empty room someone leaves.
PRIDE AND PREJUDICE
MICHAEL FRAUENHOFER ‘11 never really existed all along at all nope not the case.
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