Random Write-up

Nestled against the carpet like a sleeping infant, so safe and warm and content. But all I see is an ocean of black paint, disturbed only by the glinting remains of a broken lamp and a bottle drained dry, save for that one drop of golden red along its lip. Stark and sweet. Fuel for fury that’s been pooled and heated too long.

Let There Be Nothing Else

Drunk with emotion.

Like the hazy dreams of illness once you finally wake. Except this is more memorable, this is joyful and here and true. This is what it means to succumb to the overwhelming relief of having you so close to me that there’s hardly even space for breath between us.