< throat a little when I drank. We stole glances like we were both gasping for air.
“You’re not going to forget about me, will you?”
Like a whisper in the night, I swallowed. Maybe I wanted you to save me then, too.
✘ — WHEN THE PARTY’S OVER. (@LovelyPerjurer)
“Move him into the sun -
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields half-sown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.”
< eyes, like it hurt you to look at me. I could feel the pain, and the anguish, and the harshness to your words and your touch. You looked like you wanted to cry, and I couldn’t handle it, so I shifted my gaze. The fruity coffee touched my dry lips, and the warmth soothed my >
Part One — Ghosts on the Shore
"The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins" — Edgar Allan Poe