alone again in bluepainted houses
down everturning lanes
sunlight burns
moonlight drowns
"you are nothing to me,
and you are everything"
::
He was cold.
He should be used to it by now.
But,
he's not,
and so,
he's cold.
She's cold,
too.
But in a different way.
Cold like snow drowning fresh spring flowers, cold like a cadaver encased in ice, cold like,
like,
like something out of this world.
She's especially cold to him (being who he is, and how long it's been going on, he should be used to this, too).
He doesn't mind (but it's still a cruel surprise),
nor does he ever want to.
Because he knows
all
too
well
that if she didn't act like this,
she wouldn't act like
anything
to him.
He couldn't live with that.
So,
he lets her
do these horrid things
to him,
to his heart,
to his mind.
She doesn't care
whether he likes it
or not
whether he wants it
or not
whether he'd be able to
live
without it
or not.
She doesn't care about him
at all.
Or so she says, she says, she says...
And she says nothing
and
everything imaginable
and
somethings that
aren't,
when no one's around.
Or so he thinks, wishes, believes...
Because he can't let go
again.
So he
stares
at her
while she
glares back
at him.
Because he has
what she's always wanted
and she is
what he's always wanted.
A/N: Shut up, pencil.