Sunday, April 3, 2011

Bubbles Pop

Her best feature was her giggle.

I don't mean her laugh. When she laughed, it was beautiful for sure. I did love it when she laughed. I loved the way it rose from the bottom of her throat, the way her head fell back, the way her laugh seemed to echo inside of her mouth before emerging like the first sip of hot chocolate.

But it was nothing compared to her giggle.

When she giggled, it bubbled up from her chest, right where her heart is. Her cheeks turned pink, and the corners of her lips tugged up gently. The bubbles popped like champagne, and they tasted bittersweet on my tongue.

I loved to watch her clamp her hand to her mouth, trying to hold in her bubbles. She bent over, trying to keep them buried deep inside her chest. I always wanted to pull her hand away, to pull her standing up straight.

Let it out! I wanted to cry. Let it out, let me hear! Let me taste the way you giggle, It could make me drunk, intoxicated on her mirth. But of course, I never touched her. I let her hold it in the way she wanted to.

She couldn't keep them all in. She couldn't hide forever. The bubbles always popped.

I was reminded of those bubbles as I watched her blood dripping down her face where the glass was embedded. The blood fell onto the dashboard with a little *pop*.

I wasn't drunk this time.

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