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i. She was afraid she'd lose this feeling if she stayed too long – the rise and collapse of fragile lungs, insomnia numbing her brain and tricking her vowels into slurs, broken hearts flooding and spilling over into messy red and white pools of affection. And then, gone.
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ii. There was only so much you could say until lips crack open and words fall short. He prays that his rough hands and run-on sentences can get the point across, but feeble touches and fumbling hands never sounded much like 'love'.
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iii. She's all eyelashes, splintered bones and eager dreams. He's just newspaper print, rough lips and hopelessness. They collide at a breaking point, too lost in social hierarchy and high school drama.
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iv. He talks about how many girls he fucked and she tells him about how many boys she's loved. Pretty lies and sugarcoated breaths, she informs him late one night. "Sex and love are completely different."
I know, his fingers whisper as they journey along the curve of her breast, not-so-affectionately.
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v. Forever was seven letters too many, three syllables too close to smothering him. Words didn't matter to her anyway; no, she'd much rather have his fingers ravage her ribcage to the rhythm of could-be verbs and would-be nouns. His eyes lock her into a muddy state of moving and being, of acting and re-acting, of loving and being loved. Forever was whispered between inches of flesh and heat, bed sheets and silk, love and hate.
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vi. She's infatuated with city sidewalks and highway signs, always moving, never able to stay in one place for long. She was never used to warm embraces waiting for her, promising her something better than addiction and dying alone.
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vii. He becomes her drug and her reason for living. He pumps needles full of starry eyes and false hopes, injecting passion into running veins; she can't breath, but for once, she believed in fate and destiny. He was her divine intervention.
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viii. Silk bed sheets tangled around alabaster ankles and careless fingers tugging on out-of-place curls, he whispers sweet nothings in her ear. All he knows are run-on sentences, corny pick-up lines and classic movie quotes dabbled with playful banter, but the most important words were the ones he was never taught to say. "I love you."
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ix. Collapsed on the brink of insanity, she's a nervous wreck with self-inflicted bite marks on her wrists. It reminds her too much of the marks he left on her arms with his too-sharp nails. If only he could see the marks he left on the inside.
He left her broken, lost without her other half.
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x. "I could never complete you."