noémie

beneath the cresents moons brimming with curdled shades of skimmed milk, and so the loveless, withered soul watches… sepia curls endlessly matted and eyes fixed ahead. wandering. she watches and watches as a life she could never have for herself unfurl like a bouquet of foxgloves. a bouquet of periwinkle petals forever laced with poison.

she is there. there… as lovers fall in and out of love, all rosy-cheeked and flushed as they lean in close. she is there as their bellies blossom and grow round with life. she is there as the kiss of death lands upon their souls and as stardust consumes them whole.

and every night beneath crescent moons brimming with curdled shades of skimmed milk, the loveless, withered soul wishes upon a shooting star. she wishes for a life she would never have. she wishes for love. she wishes to feel what she cannot.