Small boxes

(An excerpt from a book of fiction I am working on this am….several chapters ahead now…:))

She took the escalator. Looking down at her red toenails, she wondered at the unusual feeling in her chest. What was it? It lay between her sternum and her throat, caught there like a pinned butterfly. What had she eaten today? Lately, she’d been lazy about food, forgetting entirely for hours on end to eat anything. Maybe she was having some sort of low-blood sugar moment. When was the last time she ate? She saw herself by her fridge, eating out of a yogourt container in her underwear. Ok, so that was it. She was just hungry. But it wasn’t her stomach that ached. This feeling was caught there, suspended in her chest like a worry but one that she longed to take out of its box, and turn over in her hands, and touch gently, roll between her fingers, and pull up to her lips and….kiss.

She saw his face then. She smelled his cologne. She heard his whisper. She remembered his hand, a fistful of her hair.

She stumbled off the escalator into a mall of shoppers and stood in front of a mannequin army in a white display window and realized, to her horror, that she must be in love.

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