06-28-2020, 01:56 AM
when you're dreaming with a broken heart
She wishes that being curled against him meant that she was forgetting everything, but it doesn’t. She wishes it meant she was being caught up in a moment, that maybe her brain was full of fog and haze. But it’s not quite like that. His heartbeat is the background music to all of her clear, rational thoughts. The ones telling her this is a mistake, the ones telling her she is being used. The ones asking her how absolutely stupid and weak do you have to be to console the man whose heart is broken because of the woman he had left you for.
So many lifetimes, and still she is the same stupid, stupid girl.
There is no glimmer of hope in the darkness when he touches her. Even though her skin trembles at the way his touch slides down her neck, the words that he whispers feel like a lie, and the kiss that he presses to her skin feels like a trap. “Do you actually think that?” She asks him, soft and wavering, like maybe if he says it again she will believe him. She isn’t sure if she wants to believe him. She is afraid that believing him will set herself up to fall again, and she already knows what happens when he catches her.
Her slender neck arcs, her pale nose touching to his chest. He still feels the same; still tastes the same. It makes her heart stutter and stop, and she wants to fall into the lie that he is feeding her. “I’m sorry, that I didn’t love you the right way before,” she murmurs into his chest, before lifting her head to rest her cheek on his opposite shoulder. The weight of him against her fools her into a false sense of security, fools her into believing this strange, twisted dream might be a reality. “Maybe you can teach me how,” her voice is tentative and unsure, but there is a quiet desperation hiding in the tremors of it, “Maybe I can do it right this time.”
So many lifetimes, and still she is the same stupid, stupid girl.
There is no glimmer of hope in the darkness when he touches her. Even though her skin trembles at the way his touch slides down her neck, the words that he whispers feel like a lie, and the kiss that he presses to her skin feels like a trap. “Do you actually think that?” She asks him, soft and wavering, like maybe if he says it again she will believe him. She isn’t sure if she wants to believe him. She is afraid that believing him will set herself up to fall again, and she already knows what happens when he catches her.
Her slender neck arcs, her pale nose touching to his chest. He still feels the same; still tastes the same. It makes her heart stutter and stop, and she wants to fall into the lie that he is feeding her. “I’m sorry, that I didn’t love you the right way before,” she murmurs into his chest, before lifting her head to rest her cheek on his opposite shoulder. The weight of him against her fools her into a false sense of security, fools her into believing this strange, twisted dream might be a reality. “Maybe you can teach me how,” her voice is tentative and unsure, but there is a quiet desperation hiding in the tremors of it, “Maybe I can do it right this time.”
the waking up is the hardest part
ANONYA
