He looks down at her, not blinking. Head held high and lips taunting hers with a familiar sense of mischief and comfort at the same time. She turns away from his eyes, away from his taunting lips, and away from what they once were. She needed to ignore, she needed to run. From the monster cloaked with innocence and from trickery itself. She needed to stop. She needed to think.
"Come back," His voice echoes, reeling her back in with two words. She needed to stop. She needed to get away.
"I'm here," She turns to him, shutting down every other possibility of how this might end, and how this will go forth. Love's wicked grin, love's plausible tongue, calls back the game, and hits replay.
YOU ARE READING
berceuse
Poetry❝ the lullabies in me are coming from your symphony. ❞ [image on the cover belongs to the artist]
