She brought her palms to the sky, sleeves slipping down her arms, and the sun had shown through her skin like a blade. Hotter than it had ever felt when she was fully alive. And that's what she liked the most about existing without the burdens of her own ghost. Pain was never slight. Smells were never faint. Finger tips grazing her skin felt like pins and needles.
'You never smile.'
'Well,old lover,there's nothing ever to smile about.'
There never was. There still wasn't and she grew icy thinking about that memory for the fifth time. She wished all her memories had disintegrated with her flesh. He had curled himself around her as if she had been the cure to his insanity, and once upon a time ago, she didn't mind it. She didn't mind giving him her knees, the spaces between her fingers, the bend in her arms. She was searching for something in him too. His eyes were never prettier than stars and his hugs were always messy, but she held on to him as their little boat sunk.
Alas, misfortune remained a persistent lover and figured she wore melancholy the prettiest. Alive and even dead. Sorrow lowered her lids and disdain dried her tongue. Bereft, she spilled herself in the outskirts of a village buried deep in the west. In wide open space. The grass was not high enough to embrace her waif disposition. A demon had licked up her scent. She could sense them, at a rather eased pace, nearing her. Her ghost of a heart fluttered, but she did not stir her bones.