“They say, when you drink out of this fountain, you will never grow a day old again,” he gushes, breath hitching as the excitement of his discovery completely washes over him.
“Well, they’re not wrong,” she scoffs, clenching her fists to stop herself from dragging the mesmerized guy away from the deceptively inviting sparkle of the springwater; knowing she could never touch a hair on his body anyway.
The clueless dolt, deaf to the rest of the world, scoops a handful and sniffs it as though holding a bouquet of flowers, “Ah, immortality!”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she warns, tired of this routine by now; knowing that like her, they would always drink the water anyway.
She doesn’t take her eyes away this time when the guy starts to choke, and openly laughs her ghostly kind of laugh when the filmy form of the guy’s confused, yet ageless soul starts separating from the rest of him.
Death will be so pissed when he sees a dead body floating in his bathwater again.
“How long has it been?” Sol asks, heavy-lidded eyes fixed on the night sky.
“Damn if I know, man,” Anders sighs beside him, sounding just as lazy.
The beach has gone quiet, the tides fortunately low. The stars have been winking at them—mocking them for what seems like eternity.
If he were a speck of light in the sky, looking down on two guys buried to their necks in the sand, in some private island off the coast of nowhere, all because their friends thought they needed time to talk without bolting out on each other, Sol would be laughing, too.
“When we get out of here, let’s find better friends,” Anders suggests, to which Sol just snorts as their hands, which have found each other’s grip underneath layers of sand, tighten around each other.
The place looks familiar, but it also feels rather strange that he remembers it without actually remembering it. He’s been here before, but can’t figure out why that matters enough to stop him in his tracks.
The groaning, shambling horde has since crossed the bridge, with only two of them tumbling off the edge into the water—the canal; and yet, here he still stands, chewing thoughtfully on a takeaway hand, drawing in a lungful of the now stale air as reminiscence of a surprise proposal trip he took with his girlfriend starts to spark life back into his undead mind.
He chokes on something and now has half the mind to spit it out into his gray palm. The diamond ring looks familiar, too; he wishes he could just forget again.
spare parts make a whole
the tiniest gaps can deny completeness
a puzzle is never done with one piece missing
just as love will never be real when one heart is aching
an ache in the heart from a love that is never complete
as an entire wholeness shatters from a single bad fit
replace a piece in a puzzle and it starts aching
where gaps begin, spare logic goes missing
a piece completes a whole
simple love fits an aching gap
as tiny hearts spare the biggest love