Silent as the Grave

It was silent, as it has been, it brought new meaning to the phrase as silent as the grave. The silence becomes painful and echoes around my empty body. A great weight was lifted from my front. Rough cold fingers gently pry my body out of my deathly confines. The luke-warm wind washes up against my skin and takes some of myself away with it, as I am withering. I am cradled to my savior’s chest, a ghost of jealousy pierces the cavity that held my soul when I feel his heart beat frantically against my bosom. He lays us down on the grass and cradles my person closer to himself and lets the misery he has been holding in for god knows how long take him. As it quiets I can feel the air around me heat up and I am lain back to where I was born and where I now rest. I detest the dawn; it has taken away my Heathcliff.