#writerdoesntwrite

I could hold your heart in my hand and you would still trust me not to break it. I could wrap my fingers around your throat and you would still trust me to let you breathe. You believe in good so deeply, the dark isn't even a possibility to you.

She was a cup of steaming black coffee. Bitter and strong with a nasty aftertaste. I was a caramel frappucino with whipped cream and extra ice. Milky and filled with a false sense of “alive”.