Your love sticks like an old t-shirt  to my skin on a rainy day.

Music still turns from the hour, once hushed by the conversation of the hour.Candle wicks burn until their end, unattended.Steam from a sidelined mug makes the air, clashing perfumes and colognes, visible.Wrinkles on the couch like a basset hound.Table runner stained with half-eaten pies left on ceramic dishes with scratchy bottoms.Shared flannel blanket draped over a battered armchair.Milk in the pitcher, passed from cocoa to tea, collects dust particles visible in the white.Fire burns bright in the low light, unattended.The skin is tight at my laugh lines like lifting a heated glass, intentionally impressing.– The frost-filled town like a photo outside;now only I am walking amongst these mementos. GiGi Kang

If I knew the words of your deepest revenge I’d read them over and over again

The end is just the beginning, but where does it end? What was once an endless ocean where you could fall deeper than anywhere else in the world now seems so close to shore. But you can never be too sure. It comes in waves, and when you finally touch the sand you were all too scared of, you feel the ocean you once loved drowning you till it feels like you can never breathe again, but you live. That’s the end. Because it never ends until you find your beginning.  Alison Wong