I wasn’t as quick as the other children at school, for a long time I couldn’t read. But I could pretend, I could open a book, find a page and look concentrated as I allowed my vision to blur.
I imagined the trails of the page, blank between each word, and every paragraph, were a map to some treasure. The trick would be divining the right place, the right book, the right page.
I have never been able to read people, but I can pretend, I can start a conversation, nod my head, I can let my vision blur until the paths of flesh twist around your features.
I imagine the lines of your skin are a map to something I will never find.
