The Moth Diaries

You can feel his heart pressing into your shoulder blade, gently ghosting across your skin, and your bones rattle violently when he traps you in a glass jar embrace. Your hair shivers from his perfect breaths; you want to turn over and kiss every pretty dream out of his lips, to make them your own. More than this boy, more than your love you want to sleep.

Your eyes are filled with saltwater, your steps are tangled and clumsy and your body weights far more than you can carry, but you stumble from the edge of the bed and your steps stutter on the floor. You are moving.

You haunt the room just like a ghost, your fingertips whisper against the furniture, walls and his skin; as they tap the heavy beat from your head.

You find his pants underneath the bed, your tired sigh echoing right through the night.

You grab matches, from the back pocket, light one on fire along with the half smoked cigarette and watch as it burns holes in the dark. The smoke curls around you painting pictures.

You tell him stories, make up dreams that you would never have. Against his ear you murmur

"I love you, Andy." You swear that it is the truth. The cigarette burns out with your lie.

He wakes up with a smile, drags you back to bed inch by inch, and tells you to sleep. But you can‘t. Because maybe more than anything you want to stop this game of pretense and lie.