(no subject)
when she comes to mind flutter promises, like fingers unfurled, slim, resting on glass, cautious. can you see the bottom? we've hidden in the grey-casts, hidden from everything, but certainty. so, she has thought of me, in the same meek-fashion we impart each other, our silent trademarks facing silent returns, just the loud, empty sounds of fingers pacing in a dulling circle's caress, of glass, of caution.