I traded minutes for kisses, hours for the slide of your skin against mine. I drew out every second, unwound them one by one: my fingers, your hair. In that perfect moment when time no longer mattered, the lark began to sing.
She said it again this morning; she tells me every day. “I don’t know why you bother. Nothing will come of it.” And every day I push back. Reach for one more minute, one more word. Someday I will shut her up.
The steady thump-thump-thump of the watchdog's tail chases me from my dreams. I never sleep unguarded on a full-moon night. But there are dangers, and there are dangers. "I was wondering when you would wake," said the Lady who harrows my heart.
"Is it done?" Another heart in another wooden box, all to please her. I nodded and set it on the dressing table. Sunlight flickered across her reflected smile. I shivered. I may have held the knife, but her hands bear the stain. This post was made in response to this week's gargleblaster question: Who dunnit? Our challenge … Continue reading The Box