Tag Archives: grief
Not Enough Had Changed
The ache rode beneath his skin, a thief of warmth and comfort, leaving him unsettled, jittery, perpetually chilled. Tension in the knuckles — his hands shook, now, when he had them out. Rather than betray that age or nerves had … Continue reading
I Wrote This
I wrote this because I don’t know how to tell you things. I wrote this because I can still taste you on my lips. I wrote this because I don’t know how drunk you were. I wrote this because I … Continue reading
Safety Glass
When he is at his most fragile, when he is at his breaking point, he must always remember: if he is broken, he is good for little more than cutting anyone who reaches out to him. If he is to … Continue reading
The Way Things Were
Every day was the same, now. At first, she’d refused to move, to eat, to anything. She resented having to go to the bathroom. She would all but bare her teeth at anyone who got too close. As time went … Continue reading
Beside Her
She slept beside him every night, but could not bring herself to curl close, no matter how cold she was. Not for all the warmth in the world. He had too much rage about him, and it frightened her, even … Continue reading