Drabble #79 – its skin of gristle (this isolate) It’s

Drabble #79 – its skin of gristle (this isolate)

It’s a strange kind of reverence that comes with downing the night’s heartbreaks in the eve of winter. The air cold and dry, I watch you pack your luggage as I unzip mine. Bite my lip, act like the silence isn’t choking me. Your suitcase with the broken wheel drags by your side, like a dead body, heavy with memories and life lost. I toss in a piece of my heart just before the click of the lock. Do you know what it’s like, feeling like an echo? You were always the type who had a lot to say and no one ever knew what was going to come out of your mouth next. Today, you didn’t say a word, and I’m astonished by how thoroughly we have broken each other.