They say that when we pass away, all of the moments we've spent alone, and that nobody knows about... vanish into thin air. It's as if every
corpse is a magician. Everything that I have ever let go of is covered with claw marks, and I'm sharpening my nails.
I will never be able to soothe the ache of memory, or dethrone the loneliness that she carries deep within her heart. Yet here we are again, finding comfort underneath the covers... two intertwined bodies hiding from the big bad world.
I've got secrets that double as weights inside of me. Every now and then they spill out of my eyes, or fingertips... but never from my mouth.
