I was never any good at drawing, but I guess with a knife and dead skin, it didn’t much matter.
Mr. Massie, my elementary school art teacher, wasn’t there to pound his fist into the pavement and say, “Insanity means doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result.”
If only he could see me now, as I carved little hearts into Alicia’s belly. The skin was still warm; I kissed her tender wrist.
It didn’t take long to run out of carving spaces.
Heart after heart, heart for heart.
The one around the belly button didn’t look half-bad.
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