"Let's stop this pretending" she whispered between wine-flavored kisses that stained my lips with hers, sharp fingernails marking my arms with crescent moon memories of forgotten, faded nights.
Her eyes engraving themselves in the cement of my mind, terrified, empty globes that pierce the fragments of sky that filter through the closed blinds.
And I know, and she knows, we're hiding, always hiding.
We've only ever belonged in the dark gaps of stairways and the lonely, empty space left on library bookshelves,
but with grasping, clawing fingers, we tried.
God, we tried.