Unbearable Cities

How am I supposed to do that?

Lizzy said: it’s not my problem.

But seriously. How?

Contain Stephanie? And Wren? Jack if I can? Jack, who’s so wired in he uploads shit to YouTube about the city. I’m living on borrowed grace, she says.

A girl came in today. She had beautiful work: a medieval Babylon cityscape all around her stomach. But she cried and cried. Her boyfriend was a medievalist, she thought it would impress him. It did, but he left her anyway, and she couldn’t bear it.

God, I miss her. Stephanie. My girl. The girl I never loved. How can you contain something so totally outside you?

I called and told her I wanted to have lunch. I named a place. A diner by the freeway, with great home fries. Steph loves home fries.

I don’t really know what I mean to do. Lizzy shrugged and I didn’t like the shrug at all. You destroy ink with light. It’s what you do. A girl shouldn’t be so hard.

And if I do. If I do I have proven myself. If I do someone will let me go. They’ll spare someone. Maybe Lizzy. Maybe not. I have this vision of a house full of boys and girls with unbearable cities on their skin, waiting to be assigned to some poor asshole who’s proven himself.

I want to hear the sounds of that place. I want to hear its voice. I want it so badly. But I can’t tell if I want it because Stephanie has it, or for itself. And I’m supposed to take it away from her, so that I can get there myself.

Oh Steph. You don’t even read this anymore. I know: I’m the only admin who logs in. Why couldn’t you just let me in on your own?

I feel like shit. But I haven’t canceled lunch. I keep scratching my hand, as though the mark is already there. I’ve started to bleed.

Flesh always bleeds. It might not respond to light, but…I know Steph can bear flensing. She’d be ok. It would hurt, but she’d be ok.

She’d be ok.

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