a pretty face won't make him stay, only words can, but you write them all down on paper instead of telling him anyway. if you spoke up sooner, if you didn't let your words strangle themselves in your vocal chords, maybe love would be a roar, maybe it would be louder than the sound of your neighbors fist hitting his wife. maybe your love wouldn't be so silent, as his footsteps late at night, when he comes back stinking of anothers perfume. you'd turn your body to face the wall, you'd be a body of bricks, you'd be the wall. maybe if both your bodies entwined, you could form fossils in bed. and later, archaeologists could marvel at the beauty of human heartache, how the heart turns to dust, and the love decays with us.