viii • eight
"corrupt a man's
heart with a gift."
・゜・。。・゜
the echoing voices in his head told him to forget. they screamed at him to leave the thought of his lover in the pits of his mind, to stomp out the memory of him until it were reduced to nothing but ashes. it would've been better to have the memories disintegrate from his life; that way, he would live without the constant feeling of remorse nibbling at his skull, beckoning him to run into the fields of his recollections and experience the emotions he had once felt. but he couldn't let the memory of him leave so easily.
he knew in his heart that his lover had retained the showers of light inside him, and had spread it all throughout the grounds of the earth. he knew his heart was beating rhythmically in his chest, the sound resonating into the silent air like the steady ticking of a clock.
he knew he was still a beacon of hope in his room of dried, peeling paint, and that was all that mattered.
