.
the anatomy
of
goodbye
.
Sometimes Mason wakes with a sob in his throat, mouth so full with all the words he could never say. (all the words that she wouldn't.)
Daisy had tasted of promise, but he remembers.
She had never promised anything to him.
.
.
Before
.
.
.
.
Furious words and parallel lines- they'll never meet.
(and later he'll take all those words he couldn't say and wrap them around her, his mouth bruising, furious on her skin)
But now
He's glaring at her and she's threatening to leave, mocking, she's walked away from people before.
and she's /loved/ them.
Bitch he thinks suddenly, without affection. She says it all like it means something. As if he was the guy who gave a damn. He's not. Can't be that way ever again.
She do better to remember that.
.
.
.
Now
.
.
It's the little lies he like the best.
When he wakes, twisted in sheets and almost unaware, he can almost pretend that it is her legs entwined like vines with his own. He leaves the curtains wide open so he can feel the warmth on his face.
(it's almost as golden as her hair.)
.
.
.
.
Later
.
He runs his unwashed hands through his unwashed hair and hopes that it is understood that he is distraught. (There is only a larger degree of bloodshot and unshaven in his appearance but he feels the gesture is romantic enough.)
She calls him a fuckup; he says that she's in love with him.
It looks different, but it feels exactly the same.
(he thinks he has just enough strength to let her go.)
.
.
.