(no subject)

[byronicromance]

She closes her eyes, face somehow both empty and pained at the same time. I take the moment to lean in. Her hair may be falling out, but her eyelashes are still dark at the edges of her trembling lids. My vision unfocuses, and they make up the body of the butterflies resting there. Drawn like a short sweep of charcoal, dividing the shadows on her face into wings. The veins under her paper skin are a brilliant blue, and there are dark smears, bruise colored, under her eyes as though she had been beaten by her insomnia. She looks almost serene. Almost the same, but so different.
I exhale my thoughts onto her cold skin, and the butterfly snaps apart reveiling kolidascope eyes. We stare at eachother for a minute, and say nothing.
This close, I can almost pretend that we are five years ago.