million dollar baby

by Rachel Lynch in


one and only. wake up, you're freezing. walk you home through central park, the day after your birthday and it's pouring outside. i'll make up my reasons.

The skin is the largest organ on the body, but mine doesn't keep me warm. I'm cold. Cold all the time. The growing gap between my thighs and the space between our fingers. New York hardens our shells, your hands used to be so soft.

He said he doesn't believe in regrets; well I regret to inform him, that I do. As we walk, it goes our time is always, our season is all year round. The red rose and the regrets that we found. This is our secret, for as long as we can keep it. The root of the root, the bud of the bud and so it goes.

Close your eyes, this won't hurt a bit. And I refused to open them. Ain't it funny how the ones who you drag all the way through your hell, are the same ones who teach you how to touch heaven as well? The reflection of the man that you saw, is no more. Eventually, all that is heavenly gets exhausted. Then he said, "I don't want to hold you back girl, go fly." But, I would love to be the one to walk you home.

"Can I walk you home?"

Try to leave, but I know I've been here before. I hold  you too dear to keep you near. There's been black birds hanging above my head lately, and they stomp a thousand stomps through my mind.

polaroids by Samantha Rex