the last painting i drew.

White Bed Linen
by Kristin Vogt

The night spoke the frost I feared to feel. I cradled my ten fingers and pressed them against my wintry skin. Crystal white smokes escaped my chaffed lips as my rattled lungs stirred some of my broken breaths. Tonight, I prayed you would whisper my name.

On the other side of the glass doors behind me, your sleepy snores harmonized with the tunes of my fading pulse beats. It had been skipping since you had decided to make this evening your last trip with me. I knew I should run my fingertips upon your sacred body—as if I had not memorized each slant and dip before—for the sake of filling my empty cravings with every imprint of you, but my frightened head would not let me do it.

Before the dawn woke, I would rest beneath your arms so when you open your eyes, you could catch the last painting I drew for you. I knew even before the sun hit its peak, you would be gone without traces, but I would try to feel fine because waking up without you instead of seeing you leave would make it a bit easier to live.


Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.


let me hold your words before you leave;

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