Sad Labels:
lovers
Batman. Bartleby. Hamlet. All profound examples of not being able to let go. It worked out for them. Why not me? Or one at least. Maybe. If rich vigilants are to be an accepted example. Or it worked out for all. Depending on your perspective. Assuming death is always a suitable end.
The phone rang as coy as the way the wind speaks right before it rains. I scooped up the remnants of my diaphragm and began to assemble some scandal a of greeting. Yes. Hello? I'm here. With my gauze around all my words. Like some dressing gown for stubborn ghosts. Yes. I'm still here. Gestating between these four walls. The fetus of a lover you'll never live to see born.
Yes. I'm here. Skull in hand.