you wore red to a party on the same night i did, funereal in our uniformity. you held the door open for me, letting me in, and soft hands held my hair back as i threw up in the bathroom, but you always pulled me tighter. when i walked back into the room you were laughing at a joke someone told you, and i could carve empires into the skin of your neck.
i danced with everyone in the room except for you. i watched as your eyelashes fell on her cheek, stars on night, whispering in perfect morse.
we shared a taxi on the way back, feet barely brushing, fake leather slick against the sweat of my hair. your hands were roman in the moonlight, and i wondered how long it would take for you to crumble. my eyes landed on the back of your head out of habit, nestling in the seraphic yellow, following the dry riverbeds where our fingers used to run. i kept trying to look away. you didn’t seem to care.
this isn’t love. it never was.
[ ruins of wonders ] a.g.