sever

I’d cut off your arm to use it as a pillow.  I’d carry it with me everywhere to rest my head on whenever sleep or that dull, numbing sensation of boredom collapses my neck.  On a train or plane I imagine it would be very useful.

My violent fantasy though won’t give an easy birth to reality. 

Please, I’m a professional mourner.  I could use the comfort. 

The blood would probably make me queasy.  I’d mourn its loss, watching it sprout freely from your shoulder all over the concrete.

I couldn’t cut off your arm for my comfort, because you’d probably really miss it (even if I need it more than you do … I’d only take your left arm and you ARE right handed).

This neediness is hard to explain.  So I’ll let you fill in the gaps like any good writer would by developing an abstraction as symbolic of ‘need’.

Begin by imagining a lonely figure strolling like a cowboy into some callous sunset looking over their shoulder at the partner they leave behind.  That might set you on the right path, even if the walker you picture isn’t on any sort of path to speak of and is instead surrounded by a flat plain of dirt and strange rock formations that you might be able to climb if you had the time and right equipment.