Limbs

by Anne Kowalski


Touching. Always touching. Be it pinkies crossed on the table, legs pressed against each other, heads on each other’s shoulders, they’re always overlapping in some way. It’s been like that ever since... well, since forever. Since they’ve known each other there was the great overlap. Before they even realized it, there it was, although at first it was hard not to realize. Every touch was nerve wracking. Was this allowed? Did the other want this? And then there was the nervous laughter. But before that, before they had even met, there was an overlap that neither had known was possible. Where their bodies were miles apart, their faces unfamiliar, their ideas, hopes, dreams, everything overlapped. It didn’t match up perfectly, not always the same, but they overlapped.

They’ll both always remember the greater overlaps, though. The initial overlap of meeting someone so perfectly similar and different all at the same time, the overlap of feelings, the overlap of lips. Oh, the overlap of lips. It was awkward, at first. Rushed, chaste. Almost like this was too much, too close, if this went on it could destroy them and everything around them. The anxiety of the kiss and the indescribable heat of the lips was the scariest thing either had experienced. If one would back out now, and no matter how willing both seemed that was always a fear, it would be now. But neither did. Or, accurately, both did with scattered bursts of nervous laughter. But then there was the smile. The smiles overlapped, too. But more importantly the feeling behind the smiles, the feeling of “Yeah, maybe, let’s try it,” that also overlapped.


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Anne Kowalski is an 18-year-old, tea-drinking, dreamer and native Chicagoan with a penchant for quoting Oscar Wilde and My So-Called Life, respectively. She's currently planning on pursuing an English major, though she's not sure where yet, so that she has something to burn for warmth in the unemployment line. When not writing, she enjoys making mix tapes and worshipping, Doc Marten-clad at the altar of Nylon Magazine. She thinks these bios are just a way to make herself sound a lot cooler than she is and secretly wishes she were someone more interesting, like maybe Audrey Hepburn. She thinks for now, she'll stick with her self-deprecating humor and knack for making even the most comfortable of situations completely awkward in 10 seconds or less, guaranteed, or your money back.