Chapter Text
Written 2020, 14 December
I remember a day, back in late December.
The cigarette was hanging from your make-up stained lips: ash tumbled to the carpet.
You always had such a disregard for that flat.
The nicotine-stained nails of mine were chipped, bitten down to stumps, but as they traced the outline of your frail figure, you didn't seem to mind.
Our bodies were crushed together, the smell of cheap vodka, and organic cigarettes was overwhelming, but it had a way of making me forget the suffering, the pain, the truth.
A bitter breeze flew in through the open window, birds sang in a wonderful harmony, the kind of melody I used to ignore, but would steal from God if it meant I could hear it again.
Your cold, long fingers traced my collarbone, your eyelashes fluttered downwards, eyes lazily focused.
So many words sat on my tongue, but never once did I say any of them.
Perhaps it was best I refrained myself.