(no subject)
He came home late again, the house was dark and quiet. The air was cool and soft in the living room. It smelled comfortable, it smelled familiar. Somewhere in the back room his wife was breathing evenly, deeply, asleep on her right side, arm thrown under her pillow. Legs splayed out across the bed, taking up an unnecessary amount of room for her small frame. He smiled to himself, thinking about the way her face looked as she slept, how her eyes fluttered under her eyelids and sometimes her mouth would open.
'Now if only I were a bridge,' he mused 'so she might walk all over me.'
Satisfied with all of these things, he sank into his favorite chair and fell into a deep sleep from which he never rose.
So hard to write anything at all when i feel so god damned empty.
'Now if only I were a bridge,' he mused 'so she might walk all over me.'
Satisfied with all of these things, he sank into his favorite chair and fell into a deep sleep from which he never rose.
So hard to write anything at all when i feel so god damned empty.