jujumuffin
every day I bend a little further to look at the screen. I inch closer every minute, growing, molding to this shape. The shape of bowing. The shape of submission.
I just looked this up. Gong. An Asian instrument you hit with a mallet. Gong. If it's not important, if i don't use it everyday, then why do I feel so ashamed for not remembering? Gong. Gone from my memory.
He loved her collarbone, how it cradled the shadows.