She Hit Him in The Face

she hit him in the face
and unhinged his jaw.
it felt good to see her again.

she'd learned something about the world since he'd last seen her.
she'd learned how to hit.

in fact, she'd done quite a bit of hitting over the past few years
and had become exceptionally good at it.
she landed her punches clean and straight with
excellent alignment of the wrist and elbow.

when her first punch connected he felt lightning in his toes.
it arched upwards and frayed through his body like poison mist.

when her second punch connected
it loosened a tooth and cut his cheek.
like a busted pinata, memories scattered from his mind
and fluttered to the ground.

he had only one thought left:

where had she learned to hit like that?

when her last punch connected
his hearing went out, replaced by the pitch of a tuning fork,
and he sought refuge in the cracks of the sidewalk
with the weeds and the pennies. 

his nails clawed the concrete
and his blood sparkled in the sun as it seeped down the curb.
his world was now the ground.

his hot breath blasted away dirt and debris from his face
and for the first time in a year,
he felt his eyes.

he deserved this.

yet still...

despite the pain...
and the long history of quarrels and carnage
that littered their time together

it felt good to see her again.

and secretly,
she felt the same.