self destruction. no, self construction.

twice.

the first was a mistake, because i was a girl.

the second time, his motto for life was "make destroy". he drew bubbles that were horses, or the air between us when he painted me dark against his upturned nose. he stacked books on a blue shelf over a yellow bedsheet we fucked on every night. so loudly, his roommate downstairs mentioned it once over communal dinner and again while unscrewing gallon jars of lentils in the pantry.