he had been there before the time he hadn’t been and although this isn’t the right way to tell it, it had been telling for some time before it could be written.
he had washed ashore on her and although she would regret much of it later, she was amused in the beginning, as all these sort of things. her hair was soft, tickled his neck.
rumpled up into himself, he carried on, knuckles dragging along the wall. he would have bent up if he hadn’t left his spine between Broadway and sometime or another.
there would have more blue, if only it didn’t hurt so much and take away everything.