Every line is about who I don’t want to write about anymore..
The last lingering light, a barely visible street lamp, crawled through the crack of the curtains and leapt upon his face, softly tracing the outlines of every curve. The faint murmur of the lonely cars outside intertwined gracefully with the melodious mumble of Brand New playing in the background. He quietly sang along, “then ask me what it’s like to have my self so figured out. I wish I knew…” his deep voice giving each word a new inflection it had never before had and, regretfully, may never have again. It was our favorite song, a ballad foretelling the story of a forlorn and complicated love… foreshadowing, possibly.
There, in the shadows, our whispers made promises we never could have kept; they danced through our heads until, wistfully, they slowly diminished with the lingering light… as our eyelids grew heavy, our breaths slower, we slowly fell in listless sleep.
There, in the shadows, we never would have dreamed this would be the death of us.
button
