matcha matcha

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I’m scared of dying

she told him, a foot of space carefully placed between her face and the window.

He was on the outside, 

standing.

Thinking.

Thinking about her answer and what it meant

about her

and him

and the past she carried around like old wallpaper over new walls.

Fuck it, he thought.

          I think you’re dead already

         he shouted and she heard him and laughed.

So?

        So come down here, let’s go!

I told you-

         and I said-

but you don’t understand…

        It’s simple, you don’t want to die-

because I’ve done it before.