After I fell out of the idea, every brush of your skin over mine was a burn to ashes. The filthy words you would sneak between my ears were a desperate call for your own release. The tug of your lips to your reddening ears was a painted photograph retrieved in a casket.

As a great actor of our play, I deserved an award for putting up with this. I said to every city light that it was never real, but they said that I should not give up.

And I was told to remember the sweet little things, but with you it was all in grief.


Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.

let me hold your words before you leave;

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