“Are you okay?” he asked her in an email.
She forgot to ask him if he was as well but did say, “Warm greeting back.”
They would have to read between lines and miles of distance. She was wishing again that she could touch him. She was in a lonely playing ground — in a time of wanting touching — of feeling her breasts on his chest and of being able to sense the throb of his heart beating while they curled together trying to block the world out and find a space in time where only they were.
Somewhere they had, neither one, ever been and no one else was either.
Why was everybody standing still, watching and waiting for someone else to do a thing about it all.
She wanted to take his hand and run away — to a cave. That’s what she wanted to do about it. Nothing else made any sense.
There was no place to hide, nowhere to run away to where you couldn’t be found out — but a cave might do unless too many others had the same idea. Flight or fight — the adrenaline had kicked in. It seemed that lions were after them but these lions showed with guns and tanks of armor wielding needles and handcuffs.
What would they see next — a mushroom cloud that nobody expected.
She wished that she could be right next to him, for the end. She sensed the end was near. It would have to be enough that he still cared.
Writing Spool 