by Kerrin Piche Serna
I know what the real problem is here. It's that I can't seem to get enough black eyeliner onto my eyes; I keep inking it down and smudging it around and it never ever gets black enough. So, after the wedding I think I'll go find a bar, some bar that smells like armpits and peanuts and is dark and safe as the underside of a picnic blanket, and I'll schlump myself over a drink and wait for the black to eat up my eyes. That way, after the white bright sticky frosting light of the day, I'll have a nice dark place to rest and go blind and stir my cubes of ice so they tinkle like bells. Like bells! And I'll think about how glad I am that my last vision was of him, looking so happy, so happy and burning white, and how happy I am for him, I really, truly am.
6S - C3
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