Some images keep coming to me lately. I keep imagining that what I’m thinking is on my skin — as soon as a thought leaps into my mind, black curlicues shoot up my arms and swirl darker, pulsating, vibrant, until my body is covered with the lower-case first initial of the person I’m thinking about, all connected in cursive.

Or a single letter is burned into my sternum. It glows pink, still fresh. It’s large — a few inches square — and Gothic. Sometimes it’s black.

Is it that obvious when I’m thinking about somebody?

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