Executive
4
posts
0
likes
___
|
Post by Diovona on Oct 19, 2020 6:35:41 GMT -5
My name is Circe Palmer, but you can call me tonight.
|
|
Executive
4
posts
0
likes
___
|
Post by Diovona on Oct 19, 2020 7:05:24 GMT -5
There’s a saying in Exvivo: Better to die in pleasure than to live in pain. But here, heart roaring before the barrel of your gun, I realized that neither of us would ever get the ending we wanted. When the dust settles, when the smoke dissipates, when the last note of our voices scatter into the air like embers, what is left? Who is left to remember those moments cradled deep in the crevices of our lungs, those moments that defined us? Lost amidst the overwhelming deluge of time, this is all we had left. All I had left. All you had left. Moments, pieces of moments, time, the deluge, you and I. How blue the sky was the first day we stepped into the sun, our fingers suddenly too shy to touch. And the softness of his faded shirt, buried in the avalanche of hotel sheets. Or the poison in a glass and the lights of the city embracing us like a cocoon. The scent of skin and sweat and chow mein and the road like a wet black mirror. Screaming into the telephone, knuckles white, face wet, choking down words you’d never say. An unbroken ribbon of laughter. Each breath before a breath. Each heavy pause. Clocks ticking in a dark room. Half-formed thoughts at the ready. The chill of ice-cream smeared on your nose. Music that makes you cry. Breath so loud it drowns out traffic. Him. Her. Us. Me. You. You. I don’t see the barrel. I don’t see the trigger.
I see you.
Gods don’t really die, do they?
|
|