#furthermore.....

𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙣𝙮’𝙨 𝙗𝙡𝙪𝙚𝙨. @heartinhands , from cloud, to love.

𝗮𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺, 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗲𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗲𝗮𝘁. nothing is original. its body, too, is not original; more like the imprint left from a car’s collision with another, taken to then recreate the vehicle that struck the first one. that dent can be useful in identifying the grille and hood ornament, maybe even the relative size or weight, but it is inadequate for fabricating an exact replica. they are a crude copy of the thing that was once distinct and unique. the result: a thing that walks like a human, can talk and lie and overflows like a human, but there is some fundamental piece that is absent from its center. love never thinks much about this. she’s got more pressing matters to attend to, like the sullen thing squeezed up next to her at the bar, or the big highway they can hear from their apartment, all day, every day.

images, repeating. outside the club, in an alley ten blocks over, a cat has given birth. in the apartments above, a woman is cutting her hair with kitchen scissors in the bathroom sink. here, bodies are on bodies and everyone is dressed the same and their faces are all the same, too. ‘ i am the replay, ’ they think, and bob their head along to the music so loud that they can barely hear themself when they speak, let alone the blonde at their shoulder. what were they talking about? heat death or maybe the ratio of car crashes to fatalities. even with recent safety features implemented in all major vehicle models, the death rates keep going up. this is because despite the warming surface of the great computer, which humans have attributed to excess waste, man cannot help himself, and he buys a big truck. they all think kingsize. an acrylic nail chases the kelly green straw in its drink around the rim— it is half gone, and the carbonation has started to fizzle out.

blue eyes are on her and she can feel the heat of cloud against her, he is so close. it is impossible to have a conversation here otherwise. his mouth is right by their ear, moving, so sound must be coming out, but it only catches the very end of his sentence because it was thinking about the highway, the overpass. she could see the cars speeding past and feel the thrum of their engines and could imagine being struck by one, how lovely that must feel.

“ i never knew that. ”

blinking once, twice in recognition, love is back in their body and pressed up against someone they don’t know, and probably never will. this is what it means to be human. “ you’re only human, ” she starts, slow, like she’s got a mouth full of sugar. its tongue rolls languidly behind very white teeth and all love tastes is vodka and cherry grenadine. “ there’s a whole lot you don’t know. ”

too - bright eyes turn to cloud, settle right on the center of his face, which remains twisted into a bemused scowl, like he’s upset but doesn’t know why. like there is about this place a vague sense of discomfort that he can’t ignore. its smile widens, a funhouse mirror of his own face. an image, repeated. “ like  …  what am i thinking,  right now? ”