kkcarlee
It's always the same, sweat. The slow rise of heat, breath cutting the outline of your lips, whistling passed and away as wind on beaten rock. And in the air, some kind of echo.
it was the frost on his spine, or the terror deep rooted somewhere too far down the esophagus to entirely be sure of. Somewhere you had never even visited yourself. And that's the strangest part of being human, yourself is just as much ingrained within the unknown as anything else.