Author's Note — This piece does not conform to the themes of this collection. It is more of an emotional outlet, and may be deleted someday.
—
It's the desperation that seeps through their lowered lashes and down their collarbones, hands, waists. There is a finality in the way he kisses her, all pressing in, imprinting, where they can.
There is some pain in how she runs her fingers through his curls, ransacking them for the residues of whatever they once shared. They still do.
He clings on to her once, twice, thrice, not letting go, and she relaxes into the touch, with tense shoulders, as she can never fully give herself away to him again.
They usually dim the lights, but this time he turns the lights on, allows their skin to be bathed in the throes of bright, harsh fluorescence.
There is a ferocity in the way they hold on, because there is no more holding to be done after this night. The minutes pass like seconds, engulfed by warmth that fades once it is emptied.
She folds into bed with the taste of him lingering on the edges of her lips. She finds disorientation in the shirt he let her steal, still stuffed in the back of her closet, never to be unearthed from its place.
