wooden screen door

Cracking of the twigs echo in the silence, walking the path we once knew so well.
I still hear the creak of the old wooden screen door, your perfume living in the air I smell.
In a yellow sundress, a cool breeze laying your hair upon your lips.
The depth of your eyes I lost myself in, only a small piece of things that I miss.
Wild birds flying amidst the windows you once sung lullabies through at the moon.
Pieces of the past decaying, with only the pain left reminding me what’s true.
I scribed your image permanently with the tips of my hands, the foundation of this memory alone is what stands.
The color drained from my soul when you were taken from me, I walk alone in this overgrown hell you now see.

Cryptictalk


Image credit @aliveinsideink

High Hopes [Chapter Eight]

A/N: DON’T YOU JUST LOVE THE FACT THAT I POSTED THIS FOUR HOURS LATE BECAUSE I’M AN IDIOT ND COMPLETELY FORGOT? (Despite the fact that wordharvest reminded me) 

Sorry for the late update everyone! Every part of High Hopes can be found here.

Update: Turns out I posted the chapter one whole day early. I’m confused already and I haven’t changed timezones yet.

She hates these white sheets.

She never understood why Eli kept insisting that they needed sheets that had a thread count. She could barely remember to feed herself three times a day, she doesn’t get why Eli would even assume that having sheets with a thread count was something that they needed. She huffs as her fingers pick out the stray threads that are against the edges of the sheet and wonders how many threads it will take for everything to unravel, and if that what ‘thread count’ meant.

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