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She was wrapped in his arms. Not tightly, but just enough to feel no escape. She watched the sun make all the snow melt outside from the spot she was confined to. She didn't move. But she wanted to. She felt paralized in his warm embrace. It was cold. Not the cold that makes your skin tingle, but the cold that makes you forget you have a beating heart.
Their fake smiles and unenthusiastic looks, they knew. Neither one said anything. They just pretended. She did it to make him happy. He did it to control.
She heard a steady thump inside his chest. A beating heart. But it was as black as the paintings he left her with. It was as cold as the looks he gave her, it was just an organ. Hers was timid, afraid and beat when his did. She sighed. The day sparkled outside, but inside, everything was gray and useless. It felt boring and the same. Nothing new, just empty. She painted a mask of happy, people bought it. He bought it...She envied the people looking in from the outside. The world was colorful. Hers were shades of gray. She touched the glass, and not to her suprise, it was cold. She sighed, and settled in his arms once more. The arms that held her from the outside color, but showed her blacks, blues and grays. Such a simplistic life.
They know.
 Made27 · Sun Feb 06, 2005 @ 12:48am · 0 Comments |
