Grey

It was repetition in its purest form. How he looked then as I looked. So helpless. So much a pin cushion. Waiting to be stabbed again.

And I saw the next week, the next month in his stare. I knew everything that would happen, but I didn't try to stop it. I just let it because it was a way to justify the pain.

Was it right? Of course it was. Was it wrong? Yes, definitely. It was everything human emotion could ever hope to be. Everything life wants from the moments that it dares.

So many angles covering so many degrees. We bend to let them enter. We break to let them leave.

Because that is what life is. Metal pinching to conform. To the flow of the water inside it. To get to the valve where it's finally released. The valve that eventually shuts it off.

We never touched the way we wanted to because there were so many layers in the way. The hours. The years. The ugly face of truth in every kiss.

We were never so good together as when we forgot ourselves. Took whatever would take us away. Like these wings had never been clipped.

It tasted so good, but it always, still does, burn my throat going down.

I don't believe in right or wrong. I never have.

Only what is.