The laws of friendship bent around her picket fence becoming lost in the garden. Wayward bees from the hive, we descended through streetlight into her yard, passing over the sunflower threshold.
I remember. The first time she opened her hand and anointed me with glitter. It was the first time I stepped beyond the judgment horizon. Everything changed.
It’s complicated and hard to explain. Unless you’ve been fragmented.
Anyway. In the garden they gathered. Her friends. Proudly wounded. Hopelessly intertwined. Microsoft pandas, loose ends, life segues and love nomads. The garden buzzed with exchanges decorated by subcultures and memes beyond my experience.
Surely these were princes of some domain far off the interstate grid.
I couldn’t wait to be alone with her. This Transparent Girl. Parts of her were completely missing. Ionized. Her sustenance were simple impossible rules. I vaguely remember from childhood. She sang them to me.
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