Curled up, cold

Curled up on the cold wooden floor with the rain on the outside making soft dripping noises and the tree branch shadows showing through the wispy white curtains. Choking down words of love held back for so long. Instead, I look up and my glow in the dark stars and the shadow of the few measly objects in the empty echoy room. Light shines through the otherside of the door. I can see the tile floor of the kitchen. All in this I hold back loving words that rest on my chapped lips, bleeding from biting back my feelings for so long. I find this little consequence for what should happen if a single word were to be uttered. Instead I trace the wooden floor with gentle fingers. Too cold to be human. This isolated room. Walls bare except for sad attempts to make it whole. It echos. My beating heart echos. It's taped on pictures fall.

Author's Note

I know it's really short, but it was written during the moment and the moment didn't last that long.

Reviews

[Johnny Westbrook]

i like this. great details.