the past is shed with dead skin and her true face becomes revealed as she grows into her full glory.
there was no talk of dreams as we laid, as we bathed our [restless] night's wounds in pools of summer that are made on unmade beds. no trace of comfort left in our silences; no trace of solace left in our touching. the suffocation of words unsaid writhes, caught within the distance neither one of us cares to breach. we've become mirrors and all we can see are our facades; invisible rules binding us to our games and the only means of safety is to pretend and to hide. our mouths become lies but i taste no regret or sorrow on yours. i lack the strength that is feigned by most because in that one moment, i wasn't just watching you; i was loving you. but all of that, as well as the marrow of this, becomes bundled in irrelevance and settles into dull aches felt in my bones.