lachrimare

I am from the center of the stage, from bed sheets and silence, and feeling like feathers with weights tied to their stems. I am from the inspiration of sunsets and sand and sadness. I am from an L-shaped space, and the grain of wax on green paint, the smell of dinner through vents and sounds of life from the other side of the bookshelf. I'm from two types of gone, an annual promise and a regular disconnection from anything besides food and shelter. I'm from "thunder is just noise" and stiff bottom lips. I am from the preference of observation and the incurable curse of loneliness, to memory foam and a superficial connec

I spend most hours asleep, because I am broken, and sleep passes time, and time is supposed to heal you.

"Good morning, babe." Slash entered the kitchen, where Perla was preparing a breakfast of pancakes for Cash and London. She turned around and smiled at him, planting a quick kiss on his cheek as he passed her. He was on his phone, checking his messages and notifications as he did almost every morning. Perla called down their two children and set the table for them, cutting up the pancakes at London's request, and then returned to the kitchen where she saw Slash staring at his phone in what seemed like extreme concentration. "Saul?" she said tentatively, worried that something was wrong. When he didn't answer, she took a few steps towards hi