My body is at war with my sanity. They bicker back and forth over my chastity like ex-lovers bicker over who gets to keep the couch. My body is practical in its reasoning, tactful in its approach. My sanity is cunning and seasoned at sophistry.
They pull and tug within me. I am at their mercy.
"I am in the midst of a civil war," I whisper. "You kiss me and I hear the cannons loading."
His eyes are the color of summer. He looks at me, at my calloused feet and doorknob knees, and smiles. I smile, too. Sometime in between, a lifetime has passed and my mask has crumbled away from me. I gaze down at the indecipherable pieces and know that my body has won.
And then, under the cool shadow of the clock tower, he kisses me. This time I do not pull away.
Somewhere in Berkeley the white flag of my sanity is fluttering across a sunlit sky.
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