"Isn't it weird when cutters meet?" -you turn to me; "Is it?" I take another sip of my whiskey and attempt nonchalance You don't buy it I don't look you in the eye you begin to string words together carefully chosen - taking time then nod to yourself and eat them all up I tell you about my geometry box You tell me about the razorsharp falling out of your wallet every time you look for change Neither of us are the type to trust in divine intervention but perhaps you could mistake that for a sign? I stopped cutting a long time ago I tell you so much I could tell you everything You scratch your head and say you don't remember when you stopped that's okay I still cut everyday only these scars don't show on my skin.
(Written in August after meeting a kindred.)