Irrevocable.
I know.
And she doesn’t know, but she says she does. She knows she can’t do anything but say she knows, so she says she does. She says those words like a prayer, sweet between her lips.
“I know.”
She knows those words won’t erase everything. They won’t erase the hurt, they won’t heal his wounds, but she knows enough to say them anyway.
“I know.”
She doesn’t know anything; she knows that. She doesn’t know how her own voice sounds; she doesn’t know how to find out. She believes that is a secret for everyone else, one she’ll never be let in on. She’s okay with that fact.
She doesn’t know the smell of her own skin, but she knows his like the wind; familiarity blanketing her senses.
He speaks words like she knows his alphabet. She doesn’t.
“I know.”
His words ricochet off of the walls cutting her lips and knocking her teeth sideways. His letters sink into the creases of her mouth. She knows the taste of his ink. His hands gesture wildly, flinging silences deep into her throat; they break into ice.
His spit settles.
Her scrambled are thoughts. She doesn’t know how to breathe in times like these. She takes breathes in short gasps, and in silence she heaves these gasps back into the air. Stolen.
She knows this isn’t normal, but the quiet is alright.
She speaks her words softly, clearly and with such meaning that they make the earth shake. She believes it’s okay to say I love you on the first date, as long as it is true.
She is irrevocably beautiful.
“I know.”
She knows those words won’t erase everything. They won’t erase the hurt, they won’t heal his wounds, but she knows enough to say them anyway.
“I know.”
She doesn’t know anything; she knows that. She doesn’t know how her own voice sounds; she doesn’t know how to find out. She believes that is a secret for everyone else, one she’ll never be let in on. She’s okay with that fact.
She doesn’t know the smell of her own skin, but she knows his like the wind; familiarity blanketing her senses.
He speaks words like she knows his alphabet. She doesn’t.
“I know.”
His words ricochet off of the walls cutting her lips and knocking her teeth sideways. His letters sink into the creases of her mouth. She knows the taste of his ink. His hands gesture wildly, flinging silences deep into her throat; they break into ice.
His spit settles.
Her scrambled are thoughts. She doesn’t know how to breathe in times like these. She takes breathes in short gasps, and in silence she heaves these gasps back into the air. Stolen.
She knows this isn’t normal, but the quiet is alright.
She speaks her words softly, clearly and with such meaning that they make the earth shake. She believes it’s okay to say I love you on the first date, as long as it is true.
She is irrevocably beautiful.