Ophelia [a.m]

𝖋𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖑 𝖉𝖊𝖊𝖉𝖘

  The cobblestone streets were glinting, melted snow being a stubborn goo that clung to the sides of pavement.

  It was three in the morning when you spoke.

  Abraxas.

  Hm?

  Are you asleep?

  I can't sleep.

  I've never been able to, not really.

  You always plagued my dreams, making me feel euphoric. But then I'd wake up and you weren't there and I hated the world we live in.

  You needn't here that.

  Not anymore, I whispered.

  Why do we keep whispering?

  We're alone.

  For once.

  Do you want to go explore?

  Explore?

  Yes.

  Why?

  Why not?

  Where?

  You paused and I look at you, intimacy carved all over your skin.

  You smile and lean up on your arms, where ever you like.

  That was true. We could go anywhere. We could be anything.

  Ophelia, it's three in the morning.

  Why can't I just say yes.

The night wasn't wasted as I whispered your name between your hips again.

Our days were short but I found myself stretching them until the existence of time protested.

There was a shop, busy and the bathrooms large and lavish.

Warm.

Empty.

Only the moon and I heard you screaming.

Your lips in a maddening grin afterward.

The next night-

We were walking aimlessly through the empty streets of London, holiday decorations adorning windows and shops and home windows and we don't belong.

  Wind ripped through us, I felt strange.

  Not we - just I alone.

  I didn't belong.

  This was your world, not mine.

  The shock of it made me feel as cold as a wet iron gate. You sensed a change and looked to me, heaven in your eyes and you frowned.

  What's wrong?

  Where do you want to go?

  I don't want to tell you. My burdens are grim and heavy and you'll sink into the floor.

  Don't care for me, it's dreadful work.

  You'll rot if you do.

  You want to argue, I can see it in the way your lips pull and strain and your nose scrunches.

  But you don't and keep walking, I want to visit a museum - but not now. In the day.

  It was three in the morning.