Stolen somethings.

Stealing something from a place of perfection. If only to build perfect moments. Hands fit inside hands and dreams die like stars. We broke things in each other trying to fix ourselves. He whispered into her mouth, lips fish-like in their puckering. Her eyes were like candy, sweet and sticky, as they clung to him. Every word a promise. Every promise a lie. Things die, you know? And she shook her head as she told him her stories. Pain. And surrendered. And he fed her with lies that were the truth for him, in that perfect moment. Stealing something from paradise, to give her a little peace, seems like that's what she needed. And the break in the beat hit repeat, silence, I mean, Silence, real silence. The kind that follows a lie that no one believes. And he closed his eyes, tired of staring into hers...drip...sticky...drip...silence. The words they didn't say leapt across tables, knocking over plum sauce, causing candles to flicker. This is a tragedy, there must be casualties, someone must die here. Stolen moments knock on eyes pregnant with tears. Hang on to the break in the beat, press repeat and we're back here. In a restaurant where she fell in love and he ran. Told her the kind of stories only a man can, held her hand. Helped her into her coat. And forgot they way she surrendered. And the way her eyes, so much like candy, stuck to his words.