postcards from italy
#9
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I am writing graffitti on your body
I am drawing the story of how hard we tried
     She nodded and stretched her arm behind her head when the bag was released into his custody, lightly gripping the back of her neck. "Yeah, Ahren's an old friend of mine," she said, briefly noting then that he may be her only old friend in these parts now. Old friend, old leader, nearly a brother, once a lover. As time passed, Ahren had integrated into her life in more and more ways. But when it came down to it, their knowledge of each other's lives was relatively limited, and Poe found herself surprised and disheartened to hear of his state.

     "I would appreciate that," she said quickly and clearly, despite his cautioning. Maybe it was a childish sense of immortality that send her head-long past warning signs, or just as likely, it was the foolish loyalty that came from a bond deep enough. A genetic trait, she could have blamed it on if she had thought into it. But instead of thinking of the whys, Poe was already building herself up to follow her burdened new friend to her troubled old friend. Her hand swung back down to her side and she looked carefully at Laurel, searching the lines of his face for further detail to his own state before they began inland. The weight of the possibilities this bug presented seemed to be settling on her.

oh, no don't close your eyes

Table by Tammi!
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