She was so sexual, like a hunting mother lion.
Under red lights and terrible guitars she poured absinth helplessly. Testing my gaze, my clumsy eyes. She wanted to know if I could see beyond her, straight past her weaknesses. I did. I looked inside her without fear, until I saw myself and almost ran away. But I stayed, peering into that provocative mirror, drinking.
Her hair red like blood, twisted and tangled as her rebellion. Her skin drawn with ink telling graceful stories. She just wanted to be something meaningful, she wanted another world of perfect tribes bound by love and freedom. She wanted a new start for the world, just like me. Two senseless souls in the abhorrent chess game.
The bar closed and we went outside with the other lost creatures.
Where are they? she asked. And she meant you, our reader. We were wondering about you while we touched each other. You, who now reads these words as shiny fiction, who lives in a world that right then and there was so foreign to us. She wondered abruptly about you on the wet street full of vomit, just before she kissed me and went out to sleep with the beast in her bed.
She wondered about all these people who only observe us but never write. Who judge everything very safely in their tiny pedestals. We wondered if you will ever understand us.
We need you down here, smelling the sweat, filth and blood. We need you talking about us. We miss you, cowards.
We love you, cowards.