God, unraveling from her was like undoing a solidly applied and tied off stitch.
It was the visceral cut of tissue, a plunge into skin and the splatter of blood....it was paper-cut raw and instantaneous.
The alignment of flesh once properly enjoyed.
Leaving her was like turning away from a sunset...walking away from the beach. Departing was emptying the vessel, dropping your phone and seeing the cobweb of broken glass. It wasn't just an emotion...
She had sewn herself in place.
She had kept herself quiet, going about her world...but slowly, stitch by stitch, she entwined them.
Her glances. Lifting her eyes when he passed.
Full on stare when she was above him.
A blink in a goodbye.
She threaded and needled and he opened and exposed.
He was a sampler...those old learning cloths that young girls would write the alphabet upon...their name...their town...their birthdate.
She wrote her story upon him...about them.
She held her threads and needle and pressed against him...he was covered in her...smothered in her.
He let her tattoo herself upon him and he embraced it...wanting the piece to grow bigger...their artwork invisible to the world, on full display to them.
The blue veins on her forearm...the blue veins slightly seen on her breasts. They felt like they pulsated in his own...her blood and his.
Together. Stitched together.
It felt right...not like a sampler. Rather like a heart transplanted into another...surgically inserted, perfectly connected, restoring the breath of another human being.
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