Cellophane wrap or sealed pack or paper bag: clutch me. Try not to drop me.
It, this, crept like damp from the doorway until there was mould along the skirting.
I consciously partook in phone calls and friendings and 56,000 FB messages.
A lie would be I was absent for it. I was absent very little of it.
And now, history book months later, all I want is that wheezing breath next to me.
Hearts suck. Seriously. I mean.