that he would die for her. ignoring the sanity bold limitation. but now there is nothing. she left, warping into a rabbit hole. leaving him alone browsing the pile of notes, looking for the scribbling that say “i love you. always”.

while occasionally he bites his lips, trying to trace the what is left from her kiss. that sweet, sweet sensation. so there are empty bottles of wine. to resemble the taste.

and then, the hunt. the search, the place that reminds him of her. all failed. when promise is broken, always is become never. there is agony up in the burnt maroon sky. the salty sour liquid bleed inside his left chest.

and his iron heart, soon to corrode.