rain is coming down harder than she can ever remember being caught under, like someone had lifted an ocean and dumped it through sand and smoke. it runs in streams across the pavement, and in rivers down the back of her neck and across her arms, and her toes are so cold she's never quite sure when her feet hit the ground.
his rings are warmer than his hand around hers, and she's holding on so tight her fingers are numb. if she lets go, his grip will tighten, and she might not ever be able to paint again. it's hard to see in the downpour; neon and traffic and safety and warning reflects off of every wet surface, intensified, and she forgot how often water plays mirror to light.
how hard it is to run in high heels.
how blood sticks to the skin and dries, grows hard, pulling at skin and invisible hairs in tense reminder. how the rain dilutes it, falling like flower petals from her fingers and her jaw. how much it digs under her skin, and mingles with her own. ]
I DON'T EVEN KNOW. DON'T LOOK AT ME
rain is coming down harder than she can ever remember being caught under, like someone had lifted an ocean and dumped it through sand and smoke. it runs in streams across the pavement, and in rivers down the back of her neck and across her arms, and her toes are so cold she's never quite sure when her feet hit the ground.
his rings are warmer than his hand around hers, and she's holding on so tight her fingers are numb. if she lets go, his grip will tighten, and she might not ever be able to paint again. it's hard to see in the downpour; neon and traffic and safety and warning reflects off of every wet surface, intensified, and she forgot how often water plays mirror to light.
how hard it is to run in high heels.
how blood sticks to the skin and dries, grows hard, pulling at skin and invisible hairs in tense reminder. how the rain dilutes it, falling like flower petals from her fingers and her jaw. how much it digs under her skin, and mingles with her own. ]