This week’s word prompt was “hollow.” You can visit Rebecca Grace Allen’s page for the (frequently NSFW) picture prompt and full responses. Here is my contribution:
“Hold me. Touch me. Keep me tethered.” I am reaching for him, weak in this ache and need. Flickering, insubstantial, on the edges of what was once my life. My breath a chill echo against his neck as he folds the loose threads of me into the hollow of his body. The empty space I used to fill.
He is goosebumps and salt and sorrow.
“Please. Please. Please.” He’s been saying it since last night, when I twitched and shattered, slick against a pleasure so sharp I had to claw the mattress.
“It wasn’t your fault, it was just starlight—I saw every could’ve been and never was, your hand always, always in mine—then darkness.” But, he can’t really hear me. He rocks and clutches, curling himself around a memory, my body like a stone. He doesn’t know what I know. That our love was perfect, would’ve stayed perfect, will always be perfect.
“Don’t leave.” He anchors me where I do not belong.
I am guilt and shame. I could starve him, locked in this embrace forever. He’d dry up, drift with me to wherever I’m supposed to be.
If I had lungs, I would scream. Instead, I slip between sobs. The distance stretching until it crackles like static. “I won’t leave you yet, but I have to let go.”