you can’t cover a life-long empty search with shallow repetitious patterns. you cannot hide your soul from the failures of the flesh. and you cannot come to terms with this, it would seem. numb fingers and cold hearts were metaphorically, and yet quite literally, made for one another.
she deserves rest and a sense of basic decency. you haven’t you been able to be, even at the very least, decent. you’re feeling more alone, aren’t you? well, are you not?
perfectly placed prose do not create truth. keep doing all you can to squash that illusion.
i wished, moments ago, that she would wake up and that she would bring her spirit. i fantasized that, in a flash, any negative aura that might be surrounding my own might die on impact.
i thought, then, “maybe we are alone exactly the way we are meant to be,” but suddenly i heard footsteps down the hallway followed by a muffled yawn.
and i realized that a yawn had never sounded so beautiful.