t minus 20 days / / nightmares become reality

her dreams are her greatest enemy; they flood her mind with colors inexplicably vivid and bright and blinding, and then snatch them away wickedly, rendering her once again in a desolate abyss, void of light and void of the sun she'd once been in love with—the same sun that

has become a fatality.

hazel steps towards the fridge in the nourishment room. ghostly eyes wander the wall of the hospital; walls that shield her eyes from tidal nights of wretched discoveries. goosebumps invade the tan and tattered skin underneath her flimsy gown—

cloth that should bring comfort, feels more like a t o m b.

she shouldn't have left her room; she should've called her nurse; 

she should have, 

she should have,

she should—

"ouch!" she stumbles backwards. her bruised back hits the concrete cabinets behind her, thin fingers curl around metal edges. 

chills,

chills.

chills.

stinging pain chases her spine; it is but a phantom, wonderfully faint when compared to the fiery flames raging within.

his whisky eyes are saucers, golden waves rippling within.

astonishment

his rough hands gently grab her arms, steadying her body. there are more bandages where skin should be.

"woah, i'm so sorry. i'm so clumsy. i should have watched where i was going—" 

"yes. you should have." 

voice so cold, it challenges the winter air, making it cower and yearn for a blanket of warmth; is it possible to have skin so soft, and words so shrill?

goosebumps perform a ballet upon his arms; a shiver extends to his core. head tilted, he runs a hand through short, unruly locks, jaw clenched, fingers slowly leaving her skin; they'd become far too akin, 

far too quickly.

his waves of mahogany try to crash with those of emerald, but hers are void of direction and rays of light as they focus on something behind his ear.

craning his neck, he frowns.

there's nothing there besides a wall, yet she continues to peer. he takes a step towards her, but falls still when she stumbles back, hands shaking as they tuck coffee-colored locks behind a reddened ear. 

her right hand reaches up, waving awkwardly, fishing through the air. it lands upon the doorknob. tense shoulders relax.

it dawns on him;

how could he have been so 

stupid?

"you're blind."

the thought slips into words that should have never tumbled out from his lips. his breath is stuck inside his throat; he curses himself for his bluntness; he braces for a storm, but it

never hits.

hazel huffs. her heart beats against her chest, contradicting the way it'd promised to be numb eternally, just the night before. but hazel knows promises are meant to be broken; it was the unrequited love she had for art that left her in shattered shards of a

glass castle made from 

hearts.

tears well up in her eyes, but she's not sure why. maybe some stars, though blinding, are meant to be looked at; they're vicious, addictive, sinister in their existence.

"yes. but you're somehow even clumsier than I am."

and sometimes, along your neck, 

they leave trailing kisses of demise.