Crumb.

You graze my flesh wide open like a rotten pumpkin with sharp silence every time I get the opportunity to share a glance with you. You never say a word, I only hear your raspy voice in the back of my suffocated, overworked mind. Such a complex and cold thing of you to do. To pretend to have forgotten the few nights that your body kept mine warm. Skin to skin, close as can be, and still feeling as if an ocean and all the seven continents separated us. How was I such a fool? Now that I think about it, we never did speak much often. Our conversations worked like the rain. And sometimes it would rain for days, and often times it was sunny. Yet such a huge tornado would fly across my heart whenever the moon was out bright and illuminating the cold, cold nights of my Michigan soul, and when the wind was breezy, and the air smelled fresh, I couldn't help but wish that you would carve my soul again. Even if it meant hearing your silence for a night. Even if it meant feeling distant. Even if it meant a bigger disappointment once you vanished like you always do. Because although I know I will never have all of you, I'm willing to settle for a crumb of you.

The End

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