Or, do you smile at our helplessness now, love? // caption// We'll call it quits when we're done washing away the charred remains on the canvas, the sky. Or , never. Maybe the scorched and burnt ropes we tied our hands in, aren't totally brutal. Maybe the screams and panics aren't entirely devoid of pacifying devotion. Cruel tears and mirthless laughters adorn my cupboards. Where there was, once the horrifying sickness of love now rests only glorified bickering. Where there were mirrors, reflecting our intricacies in those arguments, now there is only a brown wall.
