Sorry if you are seeing this twice.
Ink smears on paper. Words, never spoken, aloud.
Fingers moving, and the click of keys.
Secrets.
Some secrets, he reasons, are best left in anonymity.
In his own personal home, he will show the intricacies of his mind.
One day, he will show the world.
Today is not that day.
She hands him an apple. "You need to eat, handsome."
He grunts, as he takes the fruit.
Her eyes stay on him, until he takes a bite. Satisfied, she shuts the door behind her.
The apple is placed on the desk, forgotten. His eyes are only focused on his work.
Writers reveal themselves, piece by piece.
When you take away a face to a person's words, they will say things they never dreamed possible.
You may need to search, but you will find themes.
When you find one, treasure it.
You have a piece of their heart.
"I don't understand."
He doesn't understand, either.
"You can talk with me."
He could have.
"What were you thinking?"
He is past thinking.
"I hate seeing you like this."
He hates seeing himself, like this.
"I won't stay. Not if it means watching you destroy yourself."
What is there to salvage?
"Give me a sign."
Nothing.
It's been a while since he has seen the light.
The darkness, is easier.
In the light, he had to acknowledge life.
Here, he can allow himself to be alone with darkness, let his new friend seep into his bones.
What's it matter? His mind is darker.
He is suffocating. His words are clogging his throat.
He asks for forgiveness. The room is empty.
"What a shame."
She closes the laptop.
The words within will never be seen again.
Thanks for reading (: