There is the sound of glass breaking, then footsteps on the old Boston floor, which sound like tiny carpenters reforming spruce into cabinets. There is a hand on the door, a twist, then the sound feet walking away into a silence. We’ve just finished fucking. “Who is that?” I ask. “He’s probably just drunk or depressed and forgot you were here,” she says, and rolls over.

1 year ago
  1. horridtaste reblogged this from strippedtosentiment
  2. twohousesoftheholy reblogged this from burningmuse
  3. burningmuse reblogged this from strippedtosentiment
  4. nearestthestars reblogged this from strippedtosentiment
  5. itsadirectionerthing-xx reblogged this from strippedtosentiment and added:
    ._.
  6. emily-yam reblogged this from strippedtosentiment
  7. thatstheendofthat reblogged this from strippedtosentiment
  8. monoalex reblogged this from strippedtosentiment
  9. joshuajasper reblogged this from strippedtosentiment
  10. strippedtosentiment posted this