senseless ramble.
Hey what you doing?
No idea. You?
Same.
What should we do then?
Well. Why don’t you tell me?
Oh fuck off. Couldn’t you think of something for once?
Fine.
[silence]
Mia wants to be a mother. Always has. Always will. She doesn’t care if motherhood would shake her world, which is in a million pieces anyways. It can’t be any more broken. That’s the best thing about a bad day. It only gets better. Right? Right?
Right.
So Mia sits in one spot for days. She could feel the heartbeat of a life forming underneath her. Many lives, if she’s lucky. It tickles and throbs. Her heart feels full and sweet like a rotting mandarin. She’s found her purpose. She’s overwhelmed by pangs of pride.
Sometimes she picks up her phone to text Mint, who doesn’t know how bad she wants to be a mother. He thinks she’s just lonely. He’s partly right. Mia is lonely, and fertile. Bursting at the seam.
Her body has her fate mapped out. All she has to do is listen to it. It’s instinctive. It’s beautiful. Like a child’s urge to devour cotton candy. Law of attraction. Like how Mint came into her life. They were drawn to each other like magnets. Cheesy. Pretentious. But it made her want to live again. Some nights she tosses and turns in her sleep, searing with her love for him.
Mint is always tired. He survives off canned coke and cereal flakes. As a result, he continues to expand after puberty. In size and in lust. He’s beautiful in a dangerous way. People sees him and wants to protect him. He acts like he does well on his own but he doesn’t. He’s tired of marshaling Mia’s lust for him. It weighs him down, but he clings to it like a dead fish to the slippery bottom of a boat. The more he bloats, the stickier he becomes. Mia and Mint. Rubber and glue. Glue and rubber.
Truth is whatever you wish to see. Or so they say. Mia disagrees. She thinks truth is like marble and diamond. Everyone wants them but only few have the fortune to call them their own, to touch them as often as they please, to adorn their neck and fingers and bellybuttons with the gems. There would come a point when they feel like nothing. Like cereal and juice. They would lose their charm because nothing lasts anyways. Not even truth.
Are you listening? I hope you are.
Would you hold my hand? Didn’t think so. Goodbye.
