Saturday, August 15, 2009

287. Innocence looks good on you, love.



A welt, a red line of blood. A gasp of relief, a harsh intake of breath. A soundless mind, a slow pulse. An obscure vision, an endless numbing feeling.

Everything was painted crimson. Everything you felt, anything you'd ever feel cam down to this one moment.

Would you? Could you?

Would you ever live with yourself?

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