Morning lights seeps through the emerald windows and she turns over and looks at him with a thoughtful expression on her face. Those glass panes should have been red—not the color of his lies.

It does not matter, she tells herself. One more lie after the thousands she has told herself is not of any consequence.

He is drawn awake by the shine of her late-night sea foam eyes and smirks, grey eyes sparkling. She reaches up and runs a hand through his hair, the translucent strands clear as glass by themselves. They layer together to create the golden look she loves.

There are no words—just hands on hands and hearts beating in sync—until she moves to get up.

And then he whispers, "Stay."

"Why should I?" she responds, knowing that she will no matter what his answer is.

It is silence but that is fine because she goes back into the bed anyways, full of regrets.

"hate is spitting out each others mouths

but we're still sleeping like we're lovers"

~daughter, still [we are spiraling out of control]~

my new permanent account 'cause people keep plagiarizing the other one.