Date: 2010-10-06 05:26 pm (UTC)
themidnightson: (Those Hands)
It is what it is. He'll figure it out. Why did he do this. (Dominoes, and wheels. And he knows why. He's -- ) The grains in the ceiling. In the table leg. In perfect clarity everything blurs as one. The scent and sound of people not too far away in the warm winter wind closes his throat.

It's not like he was using it anyway.
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themidnightson: "That's Edward Cullen." (Default)
Edward Cullen

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