was passionate about death...
Michael: was a passionate writer...


3. three



6 days have passed since I've seen Michael, I’ve started on my thighs because there isn't room on my arms, my last note is an absolute mess and these cornflakes have no sugar on them and taste like cardboard.


"Luna you should really brush your hair, and did you try that cute pink dress I bought you from the market.” her sweetly painful voice stains my thoughts. 


"You should really try another colour you never wear anything else from that hideous black"

"At least brush your hair, you look like no one cares about you"

"You're right no one does"


Looking up from my bowl I can't help but screw my nose, her pink outfit, yellow shoes, her straight hair and drawn on face are giving me a headache.

Leaving my cornflakes and bitch of a step mother I walk to my room making sure to slam my door.

"Where have you been?" My chest aches at the sudden change in temperature, my bedroom smells like fresh rain and fern, it smells like him.

"I'm not really sure" he looks down his face unreadable.

"You disappeared on me for 6 days and you are not sure." How dare he start this shit with me?

"Don't cry Luna" his voice smooth and calm.

Wiping my fresh tears I turn around to face him.

"I wasn't." I know he doesn't believe me.

"Where were you?" I plead with him.

"Luna it is useless."

"What is?"

"The past few days, I tried to feel again."

"Oh..." I look at his body, he's hunched over, his cheeks rest in his hands as he intently analyses my floor, I can't help but notice how he doesn't make my bed sink the way a person would.

"Yesterday I jumped from a cliff straight into the ocean, I didn't make it to the water I landed on the rocks just before the water, not even a scratch I didn't feel a thing," he looks at himself as if looking for some sort of mark, but stops and looks back at the floor, "I'm so desperate, I can't understand how you would want this, I know life can be shit a lot of the time, most of the time, I know you cry alone in your bed at 3 am, paint your arms and ink worn pages but at least you can feel. Even if it is only this pain you can still feel," "You are not numb Luna you are just drained." His eyes are distant as he looks up at me.

"You don't--" I stop myself.

"I don't what, understand?" he continues.

Pushing through the thick air between us I move his hands from his face replacing them with mine.

"Look at me." I plea with this boy who is crumbling in front of me, who is dead but alive in so many ways, who feels without feeling and who loves without emotion.

"Luna, your hands look so soft."

"Shhhh." I place my lips down to his cold hard lips, his skin sends me into a shiver. Ignoring my cold discomfort I breathe deeply his scent, he is so beautiful, he is dead, but he brings me to life more than anyone here who is living.

"Luna, I want to feel this moment, I want to breathe in your scent, I want to rake my fingertips over your body I want to feel, i just want to feel again." he huffs in protest. 

"Make love to me, slowly, passionately," "Not like the love on the screens but this love, the kind of love that doesn't exist that is raw and emotionless, make me feel like you." I beg him.

"I couldn't be so selfish." he whispers against my neck.

"Take me, here, now, we only have this bed, these sheets, these walls are surrounding us and it's you and me and this is what we need, this is our half dead love... Be my dead half."



this was so prEtentiOus sOrrY


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