maybe it’s the click of the heels that drives me. how I know  my hips match the clack of the faux leather five inch calf high boots. the process. the metronomy. it’s the walk. the noise cancelling pads on my ears. the rhythm that I begin to step into as I  turn my headphones up. 

as I begin to turn the corner, he turns the corner. and it’s the crescendo. the drums. it’s a little bit of psilocybin and edible. it’s a long time coming. something about trauma and the terms thrust upon me. arithmomaniac. neurodivergent. special. little bit of timing. I turn my headphones up. he’s ten feet in front of me and I am a slow
beating
saunter
behind
and very special.

“the woman who followed the men”

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