Now I stare blankly out the window. Taking in the view and if I close my eyes I swear I can feel him play with my hair like he used to. Combing his fingers through it, before laying a kiss on my head.
"August?" Atlantic whispers as I start to fall asleep. I hum not opening my eyes as the pills I have taken pull me into the darkness I seek.
A place with no noise,
no pain...
nothing.
"It's so very cold here."
YOU ARE READING
Cold
Short Story#27- flowers 11/21/18 #748- poetry We had this sick fantasy that we could be in love forever. That no one could tear us apart. Well, except ourselves.
