Dipuc
He couldn't help it. It seemed after moments, days, years, he would always return, like a beaten dog to its cruel master, like a addict to their vice. it was sick, every time he returned, and the smile on the others face would sting, and yet, he would stay.
The fumes curled like fog in the early morning from his cigarette. She watched, seeing images in the grey clouds. It was a habit she hated really, his breath always heavy with the scent of burnt, but the smoke gave here comfort in an odd, familiar way.
Its a constant piece of embedded glass in his heart, digging deeper at every glance. The worse of it all is that instead of digging in to rip it out, he only presses it more, trying to make the pain fade by wish, always, for more.
He doesn't understand where it came from, the root of the feeling dating back to a time before he could comprehend what this was. now, watching from the shadows, the ache was so familiar, it was his friend in the night.
in the dark of the night, he leans down and takes what is not truly his. Stolen kisses that cost more than the finest gold. She is not his, not then, not now, and not ever. but still, he steals.