memories
--
a prose
he left her behind.
left her like childhood dreams, and clothes at your best friend’s house. he left her wet with memories and fantasies of a world where they existed as one. where her hands were always entwined with the thick coarseness of his. where her lips kissed sleeping eyes that reminded her of tree bark hiding from the glorious sun. she would always wake him from his fantasies.
fears drowned her sanity and left her thick with want for his full attention. once upon a time, she was his everything. she was his guiding star. once her eyes provoked him to live in the euphoria that crowded her crooked smile. once, she was the reason his heart fluttered with the intensity of a million locusts.but now she was nothing more than a dying bouquet of roses, at least in his eyes.
to him, she was slowly becoming a deep venomous blood-like color, and he was afraid to peel back the rest of the flower to check if there was still time to water it. he was afraid she had become poisonous and that touching her would cause his fingers to bruise. to turn that scary shade of amethyst that people tend to document.
he was not fond of the color purple, and he was not ready to see his thick fingers slowly fade into lavender sticks just to appease her desire for affection.
thank you for reading my work.
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