sinew

i was at MPH and i scoured the bookshelves for the kafka book today. at first i passed the chick-lit section, and then i wondered on and saw books by atwood, nicholas evans - the divide - the book i borrowed in december and never managed to read, and the i spotted it. i don't recall whether it was the cover with the painted face that first drew my attention to it, or whether it was the one with a black cat and a white background that drew me to it. i looked at the covers and then i looked at the prices, one being inconsequentially cheaper than the other by five cents, and then i looked at the quantity, one being the last one on the shelf and the other with around five copies of it remaining. the content would be the same, the translator was the same - philip gabriel - and then i saw that the one with the black cover had a scratch on the mid portion, around the right hand side, and i decided to take it anyway because the scratch reminded me of you, because i usually only see your right profile and i've never quite got down to figuring out whether that scratch was a fold caused by the crease and lines of your pillow after you get out of bed, creased with sleep as you are, or whether it was a testament to a fight, nails, sinew, flesh under skin, glass? a smash of glass, a fall? a fall caused by a trip and the delicate cheekbone that hits the ground. perhaps. that much i shall never know.