Apathy crawls through an open window, bringing with it the scent of defeat, reminding me of the simple fact that I’m not good enough. I’ll never be good enough, or so it seems. I pulled the covers to my chin but a crooked smile forms a facade in the candle wax as it flickers, melting to a puddle beneath its wicker.
Her sweet face comes through the door with luck or a dream. The words I love you form before I realize what I’m saying or why rotting my worst of intentions to a puddle beneath my insecurity makes the best of me settle in a shallow grave.