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house arrest doesn't needgrandpa is coughing in the other room, staining the white walls grey with nicotine.house arrest doesn't need
he says since his wife died, this is the only thing he'll let close to his heart.
dammit, this winter is cold, he splutters, pulling a blanket closer to his frail body.
grandpa is coughing in the other room, punctuative calls of 'please, i love you- please, please stop' erupting from the uncivilised throat of his muddy mutt.
he is a conch shell, wearing his golden-rule shoulders and perfect spirality with more than a pride, eighty-seven and still adamant that smoking is not bad for you. lungs are made
by *ohsostarryeyed
AcceptanceShe was sitting on my bed. She smiled, her teeth faint against a velveteen tongue. “You’re home,” she said. I sank weakly into a chair, my briefcase sliding out of my hand like a leather fish. “You’re here,” I replied. It was four o’clock, almost dark already. The steely light pushed shadows like bionic legs up my walls, stiff marching. Traffic noise blurred beyond the windows into the rain. “There’s a letter waiting.” She offered it to me, an envelope growing blue with wetness. I got up slowly. She always made me feel so heavy, perhaps because her movements seemed so gAcceptance
by ~ottersandsky
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thanks for the fave <3
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