Dear Anonymous,
I miss her.
I miss her dystopian smile, such a broken cling to happiness reaching its peak of beauty as she laughed.
I miss the way her name melted off my tongue like liquid medication as it drug me into a panic of antidepressants and ripped suicide notes burning into my eyes as they catch flames.
I miss her voice, the sound of bleeding intestines and twisting stomachs as black and blue butterflies tore my insides to shreds, the sound of tired stars and braking feathers.
I miss her eyes, beautiful and colorless in the most colorful sense of the word, taking my worry and locking it to her bones so I wouldn't cry when she left me, when I left her.
I miss the way her imaginary black hair flowed between my ice sculpture fingers, shaking and cracking as they ran consistently through each strand of Ash coated cobwebs dipped in melted midnight.
I miss her.
