And I looked towards the door, my thoughts lingering like your silent presence -
Shadows of indifference upon the sound of the beating of two hearts.
To exit would be your finality, the escape of all I once held as true; my depravity the doorknob.
The door has always been open, but until now I have avoided the Coldness, the idea of fleeting, the continual draft of your existence.
The other side beckons to me with it's decadent hands of denial, so eagerly awaiting this torn immaculance.
Everything once so real, has bled through a light to reveal a complete and utter fraud. As usual, promises and words exchanged are better off unsaid.
Excuses are trampled upon, for there are none worthy.
To walk through that door, to forget, would be my last act of submission carried out in your name.
So I walked through that door, and I left my imprint of the impulsive on the hanger nearby that is cluttered with your harsh silence and revealing hypocrisy.
