by Allison Renner
My fingers smelled like the orange I peeled that morning. I inhaled the scent as I sat across from you, chin propped on my fists, nodding like I understood why you were leaving. My heart was breaking even while yours wasn’t, so I breathed deeply and focused on my center, balancing on the bar stool. The one after you is a painter who uses Fast Orange pumice to remove chemicals from his skin. He comes to me after washing up and tenderly touches my body. It’s enough to make me cry, him loving me while I’m still loving you, smelling that citrus on hands like before.
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Allison Renner is a wannabe-writer who tries to be really funny in her blog.
