satsujin

I wanted to devour her. Consume her --own her in a way that only she would understand. The connection harbored in the lock of our eyes when we shared our secret, at the risk of cosmopolitans in fragile hands and hearts. She made me dizzy, but for the sake of pride I blamed the drink and not her smile.

I've felt this feeling before, generic in that I recognize the pattern -- the gun powder affect fusing the bomb of my heart -- which I naturally, internalize as dangerous. She's like deja vu. The adrenaline that flows with the familiarity is not encouraging flight, and it's unfortunate that I recognize the results before they occur, that I choose the quick death over long life, just to feel her skin on mine. I set the timer. I'm not running.

Instead, in the dawn, I lay at her side. She smiles in her sleep. I'm lost in the limbo, her hand on my wrist, the gentle wrap of long delicate fingers. Her grasp is weak, as fragile as her unknowing, sleep induced smile. She hides her chin in her chest. Inky hair falls over her eyes. It's the void I lose myself in, over and over, each time I run my fingers through the strands. She's too content to notice