Literature

the cold winds of Despair

Summer feels so much warmer with a girl on your arm. She once said she'd be your life preserver, and she was right; if you plunged into the river of time, she'd be there, pulling you and your arm to safety. You don't even want to think about plunging into the river of space between you and her. Last night you told her she was a beautiful woman, but you and I both know she's merely a girl, at least in your eyes.

The sunset looks so much brighter with lips on your neck. City skylines stare down upon you and never lie; their shadows overpower yours so that you no longer have to worry what she will say when she watches cars run over her elongated body. You are only concerned because you forgot where the line was between her body and yours. You told her the sun painted the trees and skyscrapers as gold as her heart, but you and I have both seen it, and it looked more like brass to you.

Post-midnight is so much darker with a curtain of long, strawberry-scented hair over your eyes. She fights