formidable-bee

hello, pigeon, he says with a smile like somehow, he already knows she's been sad for a while. and she just looks at him, with her brokenhearted bambi eyes and she hopes that he understands because nobody understands, not really. pigeon, he says, I know. and he does. he knows that deep in her heart, she just isn't happy. not today, not yesterday, and maybe not even tomorrow. he knows that she wants to be happy, wants to know what it's like to be filled with sunshine (and he thinks maybe that's why she loves sunflowers so very much. because she thinks they exude sunlight, and maybe, just maybe, if she were bright yellow, she could emanat

It was the way she closed her eyes as she took in the first lungful of nicotine. A slow drop of her lids, like the vertical close of the living room blinds. It was the liquid throb of her heartbeat, subdividing our melody. It was shade in the winter; cooling the freezing, doing no good. We were a space heater in the summer. Yet it was the way she wet her red, chapped lips before our collision, like two celestial bodies brightly, beautifully dying. the way I could feel our electric currents her hair tracing designs on my closed eyes, defending themselves her smile. And then her hair in the reaching rays of the sun nearing the horizon