we have the same initials
My sister lay beside me with her coffee stained skin and unkempt hair, we had crawled into bed last night sometime after I had touched the stars yet slightly before the night sky grabbed back at me.
Under a white duvet we found the safest place in the world; a fort made by the collapse of our bodies and the clutching of pillows. The breeze squeezes through the meager holes in the screen, fluttering over to tickle our shoulders and pouring it's chill over our warm bodies
I pulled her from the bathroom floor the way she pulls me and I'm beginning to believe there is no such love as pure as that. This closeness comes from days hidden under kitchen table forts and loves lost.
There is an understanding that will always be there, regardless of lack of knowledge or reasoning, there is such a desperation to hold on brought on by terrifying first days of school apart and through dismal morphine jokes and hospital beds.
So we lay still, washed white by the sheets and smoldering in the sunlight.
