#nov 9

Are they dead?

Yes

No

but hope is a stubborn flame.

i'd rather grow hearts in my eyes,

fog up the glass, let the stars

circle my head, mad with want,

blind, completely gone, hopeless,

lonely for a specific thing

that doesn't scare me anymore

Moonlight streams down, liquid, and he turns his hand to catch it in his palm. He laps it up like a dog. You are near the foot of the small bridge now, and he turns, frightened, in your direction. You pause, but it's too late; he jumps into the water below and dissipates into mist.