THE FENCE
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I fell in love with her on the side of the road. She was very delicate with posts that seemed almost useless with the gap left, a mouse could easily slip through
her small arches, or even song birds, I watched them fly between the pastures she separated.
For the first week I only watched her turning gold beneath the morning sun, her gaps revealed to be
filled with spider webs, a lace which drew the eye even more to the thin posts, her sharp angles at the top, machined, yet, as I finally
approached her, rough I saw, places where the wood was left unsanded. I wished to run my hand from the top of the arch to the bottom, but I stood a few steps
away and only watched her. I wasn't sure yet if she liked me.
I came at noon and leaned against her as I ate my lunch, people driving by would have thought I was only taking a rest. I started to speak with her quietly, asking
what she thought of me. She said I was beautiful, and she liked feeling my back against her, I smiled and leaned farther, my back moving into the gaps between the
posts, my skin beginning to form to her shape. I loved that she was so useless as a fence, I told her, anything at all can get past you!
I can see the entire field behind you, she blushed and became embarrassed,
Can you see what I'm thinking? she asked,
Yes, it's easy to read you, you are always predictable,
She rocked slightly in the afternoon wind and went quiet.
In the morning, I came with a shovel, I disconnected a small section from the rest and carefully dug around the posts, I didn't speak with her, and covered my
face with a scarf so she wouldn't recognize me.
At home I placed her upright near my bed and left her alone to settle. I took a sheet and placed it over her, obscuring the spaces so I could no longer
look through her, when I lay on my bed I looked into the white figure and could not see the other side of the room, I imagined someone coming in without me
knowing.
That evening she started to talk again, she was very excited to be with me, I always hated being alone at night, she said. At home I would often imagine her
back in the pasture, as I moved my hand over the rough wood, I imaged her standing taunt against the wind. When I drove past the field however, I still looked,
and saw the empty space where she once was.
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