she is not in this for the long haul, she has never stayed long enough to be part of the artwork.
she is, beautiful. and i, i watch her mesmerise him into nothingness. he melts and she gathers the liquid in her warm hands for the funeral that will be their bed that night. i have yet to see her cry.
why do her eyes not flutter down when he looks at her? does she not feel the shame that i do?
or is it, that she feels it all and stands, resolute, in it’s light?
i do not know her well, but i think she knows me entirely. she knows that, i will walk in tandem with her steps and she will still be ahead.
always, a martyr to my memories.