“I was late today. I texted her saying that I would be fifteen minutes late, but then the train stopped at Broadway, so it became fifty. I apologized, but she keeps bringing up me being late. Even when she’s annoyed, she’s incredibly adorable.”
Forget stardust—you are iron. Your blood is nothing but ferrous liquid. When you bleed, you reek of rust. It is iron that fills your heart and sits in your veins. And what is iron, really, unless it’s forged?
I keep filling my hands with hips and skin and hair and none of them belong to you. Dear god, I miss you like empty walls and quiet car rides; everything feels wrong. You can’t come back and I can’t stop calling other men by your name.