
His hand trembled, a bead of sweat
Rolled down his temple
Traced his jaw line
And yet
He had to try.
Lifting his head, he catches the scent
Of bergamot tea
Oranges, sun
Locked in
He cannot run.

His hand trembled, a bead of sweat
Rolled down his temple
Traced his jaw line
And yet
He had to try.
Lifting his head, he catches the scent
Of bergamot tea
Oranges, sun
Locked in
He cannot run.
She picked at her cuticle, her nail scraping at the skin that had grown terribly hard and calloused, and now extended like a unicorn’s horn, on her middle, tallest finger. “That’s prophetic,” she thought wryly, giving the side-eye to her boyfriend. Continue reading
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