I rest my head on the hills of your chest. Our exposed bodies kiss, but there is no sensual blood to flow. It is a platonic touch. While you smoke your cigarette, I listen to the warmth of your heart. Your oxygen fills the air with haze of toxin, but I lovingly welcome each strands of white smoke into my lungs. We are both fragile, two collided worlds lost in the stream of life. But even if we piece the sadness we find in ourselves, we cannot fit the way we want to. Different cravings cloud our heads and hearts. While you want a body with the same features as you have, I want mine as sculpted as possible. Where can we ever find them if they only take one look at us before they give up? We hole into our little space we call home. In here, we devour our frustrations and feed our anxieties with experiments–that maybe it is us all along. But it all feels misplaced, somehow. We always end up with thousands of questions. We give up in the end, but we do not sacrifice this sanctuary for anything else. Your heart skips for a moment and I raise my head to look at you. I hate the hint of smile in your eyes. I know now you have found her. And, somehow, I embrace the irrational hate I feel towards you.
WORD COUNT: 236
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