[ one. ]

i looked over to her. her request was sudden. simple. questionable. 

"what for?" 

the city was asleep, and we should be too.

[ two. ] 

five seconds later. i finally felt the warmth of his fingers. there was nothing else to feel.

three seconds later. he tugged once at my arm, and a pain tugged at my chest.

a second later. i locked fingers with him as tightly as i could. it was then- only then- that he held my hand with mimicked ferocity.

[ one. ]

i’ve always wondered what my life looks like in your eyes. if, truly, the love they hold is for me rather than what i am. if the angry thunderstorms that flicker within aim to strike me down. if the proceeding downpour challenges to drown what faith you have in us.

if, between two-and-three o'clock in the morning, the dullness your eyes hold when you stare at the ceiling is any indication of your thought of me.

there is no greater heartache than the doubts of something you thought was unquestionable.

[ two. ]

sometimes, you put more focus on the dirt beneath your fingernails than the color of my lipstick.

sometimes, you find the hands of your watch more fascinating than the ones desperately clinging onto your sleeve.

sometimes, you decide that it’s more enjoyable to point out a blur in the distance than to pardon my sneezes.

once- last night, one o'clock in the morning- you fought against my trembling, yearning, desperate fingers and turned the opposite direction.

[ one. ]

your words cling onto my skin, tickling my flesh, letters slowly piercing through to stab at my heart. my bones rattle at the painted image of you- whispers escaping from dry lips and finding home in my strained ears. i cup my hands, and i hold your porcelain voice with utmost care; ‘don’t break it, don’t lose it.’ when midnight comes, i sprinkle it across the sky and form constellations, stringing pieces together, and i am lost within your words once again. 

[ two. ]