Only she can beat me.
The first time I met you, it was so moving. Elegance, tenderness, silence. Sitting still across from me, every move is unforgettable. That's a good one.
She plays the cello, in the classroom, in the room, on stage and in front of me. The movement of both arms is like a long line, flexible, fluidly painted on my retina, brushing out a confession, interlocking, dancing.
She's sticky, sweet time is sweet. I don't know where the contradictions started or how they spread, but I never thought she would be a scar in my heart.
I can't remember why I was angry that day. I was making sculptures, and she kept arguing with me, and I couldn't hold it for another second. When the fury was on top, with both the chest and the arm, the whole of me was going to explode. The body began to fling unstoppablely - with a knife in its hand and a snap in its hand and threw it in its face.
Blade right in here, my eyebrow. A visible brand, my best business card.
I only remember the next moment, my face was wet. Blood sprung out, the body shivered gently and fell on the couch. In the mirror, I became a balm of red, manic spray red. I've got a knife in my mouth and all the eyebrows in it. It's the first time I've seen my bones. She's freaking out and she's wrapping my head around me.
I've always been obsessed with danger, but I've always managed well.
Like that time to dig the skull. In the sports college's vault, excavating the earth is a fractured bones, and friends help me dig up a few. When you touch the line of the true spine, the rhythm of that curve is the most beautiful thing I can touch -- it's the entanglement of the human nature.
Sculptural department, anatomy class. I've been obsessed with cold bones. What's so terrible about them? Digged back the skull and stayed with me. Many have persuaded me that it is an evil thing, but I have always been able to persuade myself that I do not believe in God of Viper, and where is the danger?
Nothing goes wrong. Calm is the longest thing I've ever done. Until she crashes.
The most beautiful things are the hardest. Now, the only trace of her existence in my life is the scar and the one that was never opened.
She bought a new piano, she was up and gave me the box. She loved the box, so I had to take a cab and take it away. She was afraid of bumping. When I got home, I never opened the box. Because I always feel like there's a secret that I can't open.
Day after day, I began to feel that it was more important than human life. The location of the box is often changed in my room. Sometimes by the bed, sometimes by the tea table and sometimes by the door. Different places always remind me of different memories.
Should I just let it stay with me or should I give it back to her?
One day I dreamed that the box was open. It was a skull, with visible marks in the centre of the eyebrow, that came out of it and came closer to me.
I'm not afraid, I feel safe. I know I can't leave it.
"I'm watching."