Hey, so fun fact of the night (day? morning? I don’t actually know): I write shit and stuff. Okay, so now that I’ve given that shit introduction into my writing, please enjoy the train crash that follows.
Cold, no warm, ice clinks against the glass. She’s been holding it too long, sipping between large gulps, avoiding the last of the cubes. How did it get in? She doesn’t care. Her eyes focus on it, trying to rid every thought to you.
It doesn’t work.
No longer clear. Her brain is barely working, fuzzy thoughts all focused on you. She throws it at the sink and glass splinters. She follows the wet path down the cupboard. The ice cube, an island all alone on the white tile. She wills it to melt, disappear from the pain she feels.
It doesn’t work.
She stumbles away, falling onto the deck. Frozen water, a swamp?, lies below. Balancing on the railing, staring across it. Light shines. Buildings that climb up to the sky, advertise all night pools, dancing snowmen, and gambling. She tries not to remember when you told her how annoying it would be, laughing about it when she finally moved in and you stayed the night.
It doesn’t work.
"I'm basically an Avenger" 