Dust

| 6 |

Clock marking two o'clock and I fall into a day dream.

Stella begs me to stay.

How was I supposed to turn her down? Not when she was like this - voice so small, eyes fixed on the ground, erratically wandering.

I pondered whether this was another exaggeration of an overstimulated mind. Never had I seen her lose her composure, begging to stay alive. It makes me look firm in comparison.
I want to know how to tell her to she can occupy the vacant spot in my ribcage but please go away. Despite the uneasiness that lingered, the choice was really no choice at all.

I cannot function without her, we are inseparable. Stella, the sole and constant source of light, however dim, on cloudy evenings. None of this was ever simple.

We deserve each other as much as two undeserving people are bound to wind up in the gutter, heartless and begging for a penny.

You can't just be fed with what you've killed, even if the taste tends to linger a little longer on your tongue.

If I was a disappointment, she was a selfish bastard, yet I couldn't disregard that when I caught on fire and decided the best course of action was to fling myself onto an ocean of fuel, she waited patiently to bring me back to shore.

Nobody is safe, what a silly construct. But if I were to just hold her, dug my nails a little deeper on her sides to keep her in place, long enough to make sure we were both okay...

Until it stops, there's still so much we conceal from each other. If the night hides scars what was I suppose to do when my eyes shot back to a clock that claims sixty minutes have passed even though I've not moved at all? The sun seeping through gaps on the blinds, so much for time.