I’ve got ashes in a jar, and I remember who we used to be. I’m still not quite sure why we burned out. Why I killed you. Well, I think that I killed you. I thought you were dead. But you hugged me, and you spoke soft sugar, and, maybe it was me who died. Because breathing feels so thin, and hearts are pretty pointless if everything is grey and stale. What’s the use if everyone just goes inside and turns off all the lights, and every home and every windowsill is all blue?

Everyone is starving, feeling oh-so-empty, because it’s midnight and the stars are choked dark on radiation, and I think my hair is falling out. I think your teeth are blacker and smokier than they used to be, but it might just be my head. All these holes that spill bright white imagery fill up into my veins, but I’m bored. I’m bored here. And tomorrow. Oh, it needs to be glorious.