2007 Linus carries his cell phone everywhere; fuck the blanket, he's checking to see if another text,another one past 3:09am, like an electronic breath on his cheek, will come from her, and he will feel alive and connected and everything will be okay.
As it stands, his actual blankets have more than three spots where tequila was clearly spilled, and his stitches are almost bursting from the way his heart is pounding.
Good grief is a myth. This is the sad kind.
As it stands, his actual blankets have more than three spots where tequila was clearly spilled, and his stitches are almost bursting from the way his heart is pounding.
Good grief is a myth. This is the sad kind.
