Sequel: One-Hundred Days ›
In the Month of May
Day Fourteen: Waste
We are such a waste.
Our withered hearts are put to no use here together, lying alone on your floor, holding each other's hearts in our shaking hands while the sun filters through the cracked and dirty windows, illuminating the dust in the air around us. It settles into the sheets draped over our entertwined limbs.
We are such a waste.
We are such a waste or our talents, your heart, my voice. We work together and as we lay here, quiet and still as the dust floats over our heads, I close my eyes to your heartbeat.
We are such a waste.
The golden hour seeps through the windows, bathing your snowy skin in yellow warmth. Your eyes reflect the light, glittering like the dust dancing in the window's glow. I close my eyes to the rhythm of your heartbeat, to the melody resting behind my lips.
We are such a waste.
We could be out of this place by now, you say. We could be famous, alive, living and breathing clean air instead of imprisoned inside of these these rotting walls where the dust and grime fill our heaving lungs. We could be free and putting our talents to good use, your words, my voice. You say the most elegant things with the simplest words. You say we still have a chance of making it out alive while staring up at the window feet above our rested heads. You stare, hopeful, as I lay my head against your chest and give up on trying to sing you to sleep, clear your mind of such wasteful dreams.
I wrap my arms around your frame as you stand against the wall, staring upwards at the window, at the world beyond it, so close yet so far away. I hold you while you stare, with eyes wide open, brimming with hope in the form of tears. Your eyes are always open, while mine are always squeezed shut. I cannot bear to see you so hopeful without cause. I cannot bear to know that you can feel something I think that is nonexistant.
"We can make it, I promise, we can make it."
Your words always reach me, they reach inside me and twist at my heart, ripping it free of the restrictive ribcage around it. It rips free and I believe you with every ounce of flesh and bone inside of me. I believe you and your words, your trusting eyes and smiling lips.
You are being put to such a waste, your delicate words could save more than the likes of me. We are wasting away inside these rotting walls, with no choice but to stay and hope that they crumble around us and we can step over their remains with no trouble.
We stay and we wait.
I listen to your words, hold you close as we wait.
We are such a waste.
Our withered hearts are put to no use here together, lying alone on your floor, holding each other's hearts in our shaking hands while the sun filters through the cracked and dirty windows, illuminating the dust in the air around us. It settles into the sheets draped over our entertwined limbs.
We are such a waste.
We are such a waste or our talents, your heart, my voice. We work together and as we lay here, quiet and still as the dust floats over our heads, I close my eyes to your heartbeat.
We are such a waste.
The golden hour seeps through the windows, bathing your snowy skin in yellow warmth. Your eyes reflect the light, glittering like the dust dancing in the window's glow. I close my eyes to the rhythm of your heartbeat, to the melody resting behind my lips.
We are such a waste.
We could be out of this place by now, you say. We could be famous, alive, living and breathing clean air instead of imprisoned inside of these these rotting walls where the dust and grime fill our heaving lungs. We could be free and putting our talents to good use, your words, my voice. You say the most elegant things with the simplest words. You say we still have a chance of making it out alive while staring up at the window feet above our rested heads. You stare, hopeful, as I lay my head against your chest and give up on trying to sing you to sleep, clear your mind of such wasteful dreams.
I wrap my arms around your frame as you stand against the wall, staring upwards at the window, at the world beyond it, so close yet so far away. I hold you while you stare, with eyes wide open, brimming with hope in the form of tears. Your eyes are always open, while mine are always squeezed shut. I cannot bear to see you so hopeful without cause. I cannot bear to know that you can feel something I think that is nonexistant.
"We can make it, I promise, we can make it."
Your words always reach me, they reach inside me and twist at my heart, ripping it free of the restrictive ribcage around it. It rips free and I believe you with every ounce of flesh and bone inside of me. I believe you and your words, your trusting eyes and smiling lips.
You are being put to such a waste, your delicate words could save more than the likes of me. We are wasting away inside these rotting walls, with no choice but to stay and hope that they crumble around us and we can step over their remains with no trouble.
We stay and we wait.
I listen to your words, hold you close as we wait.
We are such a waste.