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visionaria:

I drove home with the dawn, the rising sun in my eyes, last night’s dress stiff against the leather seats. Halfway through the party you’d gotten a call and left to go somewhere, to meet someone. I’d stayed, maybe to prove a point.

I didn’t know if you’d be home. Now you talked to me or didn’t according to a logic only you knew. Maybe it was because I’d asked the wrong question or sent you a text with a photo of a bridge when you were in the mood for a horse. Once it had seemed so important to understand. With each repetition of the cycle I forced myself to care a little less.

I popped the cork from the bottle and felt a dull ache where I figured my heart must still be, buried under years of scar-tissue. I jumped up on the counter, sipped my first glass of the long night, gazed out over the yard.

The house felt empty but you’d become like a ghost so it was hard to tell.

-Visionaria

(via dreamsinthyme)

Posted 1 month ago with 222 notes