Johannes Punkt’s Flaskpost

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Tag: touch


Did you know that the fingerprints you leave fade away after a few years? It’s just oils; over time, the marks disintegrate into nothing, like a crowd of bored people dispersing after the spectacle is over and the police are asking awkward questions like, “Did anyone try to talk to her?” The marks you left weren’t even your real marks, all the grooves turned to ridges, and mirrored if we compare them to the ones on your fingers. It’s been two and a half years since you touched me, and the grooves and ridges have become part of my skin.


When you’re nervous, blood rushes to the tips of your fingers and you need to touch something to push it back, to relax it. You carry a locket around your neck for fidgeting with.

Now your fingertips blush and you reach inside your shirt to bring the locket out and touch it, to be able to listen to the orders the masked men are shouting, but that’s not what it looks like you’re doing. As you lose consciousness on the chequered floor, you keep feebly touching the locket to try and force all that blood back inside you. You relax.