text: Born with retractable chromacy. And a diamond was less malleable than the adaptive and assimilating character traits she blessed herself with. From recollection of past mistakes, both personal and intrapersonal, she designed herself to be a value more than birthstone. She had a husband who’s voice could turn violence into lullabies. And he made coffee every morning with the sugar from her pores. He would sit on furniture as if it was his own craft, and spread the smoke from his cigarettes as if the smoke was pure wisdom. A testimony to the pretentious beneath, he would tell her he loved her. Too soon, a glamouring heart is like a boat running on velocity, as she realized why she started to not lock the house doors. She sat in monochrome, while her husband usurped a bountiful bouquet of jovial sentiment. And with envy, she announced her departure from the chains from her home, and briefly told her husband where she was going. “Where the red lights take me, and the driver pleases, I will be found in curiosity, but also with content.” She walked out the door after grabbing a coat that covertly hid the chip off her shoulder. At miles away from a home beloved, she marked her words and found herself outside a companion’s home who was graciously hosting a party. Inside the party was black and white and pearls and fur. She almost looked a superimpose of who she could be when showing up to formal events. But with delight, she fit in. Her reputation was nounced, and no noxon could taint her name. Yet inside, she looked for a remedial purpose, as she jostled men in suits and women with boa scarfs. It all felt too stimulating, to be around materialism while she felt undeserving. A bartender was welcoming as she made her way to the countertop in front of a display of expensive liquor. “Surprise me,” she said to the bartender. He immediately came to his decision of what he thought she needed. “I swore I could’ve been better.” she whined to the bartender who had no interest in what she was saying. “Should I be avoiding these last tears? Should I be writing down letters and let go of restrictive fears? I have no ropes when I walk the edge, but what is to forget when you have nothing left?” He handed her the meticulous drink, and tended to the next guest. She felt ignored, but in ways that comforted her. “Should I abandon this ship?” she mumbled to herself. “A ship cannot be abandoned if there are no waters to invade.” She looked up from her drink and to her side; she was greeted by a wistful young looking woman who looked as if she didn’t belong to the scene. Her gown was white and sheer, almost similar to the personality of the protagonist herself. She had a blonde that decayed into a golden brown, and eyes that looked european. “With a ship, there’s no signals to direct your instincts. Only open waters and volition,” she finished. “Who are you?” the protagonist said. “The ship,” she replied. She took the hand of the protagonist and brought her to the stairs. “Every step is a sign, and every sign will bring back reality.” First step, there was remedy. Third step, there was hope. The last step, there was color. She looked from above the stairs and saw red gowns and golden chandeliers. A tear was shed, in memoriam of dissociation and misidentity. The beautiful girl guided the broken heart to a bedroom and closed the door. A piano was heard being played downstairs. The girl in her white gown slowly took it off, and revealed a body that killed words before they could be said. The protagonist started to touch her breasts and both women’s hearts started to become lucid. They fell on the bed and made the walls cry with their beauty entangled. In a disintegration, looping as colors became lucidious, only bringing a rush to parts untethered. The girl in white was ambiguous but learning. She worked the protagonist like a study, and became degreeable. And then the protagonist started to see a white never seen before. A white purer than sugar, but harsher than salt. She was voracious for permanent entanglement. And when she climaxed unexpectedly, the girl in white fell to the side, as the colors became less stimulating. “What’s your name?” The protagonist asked. She looked to her side and saw the familiar husband she now felt for again. “The ship,” he replied.