falling into familiar, here we are again.. it all makes sense in the dark. i woke up in pieces and elisabeth disappeared, again

i imagine a face from across the room, failing terribly flourescent light always leaves me unsettled. you are only a silhouette tonight, this word is gorgeous.. liquid silk slipping through my thought, i try to watch you through my eyelids as if these light spots could be pieces of you.

later on we are situated in opposite corners of the small room, you are reading and i am splayed rigidly across the floor, staring at the ceiling (when i was gone trapped inside a month of gray, i learned to stop the tears this way). i pretend to read, the back of my head rarely gives me away.

i glance down for a moment and composure slides down my cheeks, i run my hands over the glossy pages, as if my fingertips might drink them in again. it doesn't work and you leave quietly always quietly, i wonder sometimes if you were ever there while i am lost. i close the tired pages.. slowly, to watch the ink obscure.

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