Cry, why don't you?
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Blue Tears. By Wayne H.W Wolfson.

I was new in town, so there was a certain logic to my motive.
To learn the map ofher skin.

The silence that filled the space between us after we un-joined made her uneasy.
She would hide behind a plume of smoke or talk.

"I was sixteen the first time I tasted blood. I got some ink to celebrate." She told me many times, but only if she thought I wasn't paying attention.
She repeated it so many times it was easy for her to remember, which was good because it wasn't true. She did have the tattoos though, there was a story in there somewhere.
When she was excited her skin would quiver, causing them to dance. When she was sad they'd turn blue, washed away by tears in a process I caused but wasn't allowed to see.
I could imagine though. Even now they move with the motion of something in a dream. Sheets stained a spent blue. Lone witness to a solo dancer. Evidence.

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