Muse 68: Pretty for You

found via volatilestructure

Baby you were so beautiful, he said as he held her limp wrists. His fingers could wrap themselves around those bones a thousand times over, like the sorry that wouldn't change a thing. The only spark in her eyes were the ones that burned for him, and they were far from dying. Her pupils glowed brightly with a mischievous quirk that made him love her all the more. Love filled his chest like an oxygen mask, and he reached forward to swipe her ratted blonde hair from her face. The strands felt like hay to his touch, yet she was still beautiful, and those strands could be spun into gold if she tried. He pushed her hair back and his fingers brushed eerily against hard bone. Her body had begun to eat itself out. There was no more of his love to consume.

Muse 63: Retreat

found via wetbehindtheears

He stated those words gently as if he were breaking news about her husband's death. Even though she knew he was speaking the truth, she had to check her finger to make sure no ring was visible. She rubbed the spot as if there should've been a ring because he spoke as if there was a husband standing in between them. The fact was that there was no husband, and he was trying to talk as if he was offering, but his crass tone made her feel defensive, hunched back, and once more she retreated to a place where he couldn't reach her. 

Muse 48: Hypocrite

unknown

You are so small, he said. Where will you go and how will you get there with those feet? Someone can come and take you away, carry your small frame like the wind carries the leaves. All she could do was smile in reply, in agreement, as he rambled on about her size and frail form that would snap under any pressure. They walked, and he said, You need to be careful, you're so tiny that anyone could hurt you. He said this adamantly, and she merely smiled knowingly. They came to a fork in the road where he gave her a hug, Well here is where I say goodbye, and they parted, and she returned alone.

Muse 5: Lovedry

via no but and or yes

I was sitting behind the bed, where the light from the window couldn't find me. The phone, whose wire tangled in between my toes and fingers, rested coldly against my cheek as I listened to him speak. Come over, he would say repeatedly like a vinyl that only had one loop, and I want to see you, he said again and again like the light on the other side of my bed. It was an 'I want to see you, but I won't try to cross to the other side' kind of tone, perhaps the laziest kind of all. And so I told him no, "I can't come over. I have a lot of things to do." Yeah? "Yeah," I told myself as I twirled a strange of unwashed hair, unwashed because there were memories and scents that I was too afraid to lose, "yeah. I have lots of things to care for. I have to feed my cat...and my Facebook fish or he'll die today. Then I need to call my mom and see if she's doing alright without me so far. Later I think I have to hit Cosco for food that will last me another number of months, and there's laundry because the dryer stopped working again and my pants are just wetting my bed..." And then the list becomes a bucket list because the last thing I want to care about is falling in love with you.