memories:
a half-drank bottle of *****. the taste of something foreign on my lips, soft and bittersweet like the fog in my brain. the realization that love is something you can never touch.
i can feel it on my fingertips like thimbles and glue, heavy and obstructive. weighted down with shower water and the scent of your shirt. i breathe it in. it tastes like ******.
i inhale hair pins. i take it all in, buzzing and whirring like an ******, all soft and fluttery between your thighs, i will never speak of this again.
i will carry this on my back until it breaks my collarbones.