I told you not to cry. I whispered it to you in the least lethal voice I could muster, but maybe that was still too rusty for you. It's not that big of a deal. I'll just remember to talk with my hands next time.
- - -
Her name wasn't a boy's name. "Tyler" was a boy's name, and although she was named Tyler, her name was not a boy's name. People didn't seem to comprehend this, which is why she removed them from the world.
The positions and offices held were still there, though. The mayor, a stick branch, occasionally called together his strength to address the locals. Police officer bees were constantly on the lookout for trouble brewing, but were easily sidetracked by the songs of legacies.
It wasn't lonely in her world without cynicism. She fell in love with herself. A love affair of finger on finger and ankles to wrists. She could embrace herself and lose her circumstances in the way her heart beat against her palms.
She lived free from terms like "climate" and "critique" and "phosphorus", but she was not without enemy. An exotic dance with the the water's edge brought her jealous reflection out. Oceans and lakes are so insecure that they allow those who are not them to seek refuge in the waves. Tyler had only herself for she feared nothing but for others. The tides grew tired of a girl's curved, snowy radiance and eventually kept her reflection for itself.
But Tyler didn't care. Her name was not a boy's name and her face was not her entity. Nothing much mattered as long as she could continue to trace the lines of her calves with the backs of her hands.
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