Superficial
A writing exercise in the spirit of the New York Times Tiny Love Stories (< 100 words).
When I first meet a boy I can’t help but assess his face. I’m a sucker for aesthetics, what can I say? We’ll even go out, sometimes. As we banter, I’ll stare at his features, and imagine their landscape shifting, erupting out of place. I’ll narrow those laughing eyes, twist that easy smile, contort the rising contour of that jaw. What is rage to you, I’ll wonder, as he reaches over to grasp my hand. I won’t ask, and he won’t answer, but still I’ll hear the shatter of porcelain and remember the scar, faded under my mother’s right eye.