So now I leave out a thimble of milk and a crumb of bread. They don't eat. They just sit beside it, pretending, and I pretend not to see them pat each other's backs.
And I sleep better knowing that if anything in this room has to end, it will end gently, with small hands and starry hems, and maybe a polite wave goodbye. Would you like a shorter version, or one tailored for a specific format (e.g., a poem, a note to yourself, or a social media caption)?
It shrugged—a surprisingly human gesture for a creature of finality—and went back to swinging its legs.
The first one, hood slightly askew, was sweeping dust off my clock. Not menacingly. Tidily. Every few seconds, it would tap the hour hand, and a soft chime would echo—not from the clock, but from somewhere deeper, like the sigh of a closing door.
So now I leave out a thimble of milk and a crumb of bread. They don't eat. They just sit beside it, pretending, and I pretend not to see them pat each other's backs.
And I sleep better knowing that if anything in this room has to end, it will end gently, with small hands and starry hems, and maybe a polite wave goodbye. Would you like a shorter version, or one tailored for a specific format (e.g., a poem, a note to yourself, or a social media caption)? cute reapers in my room
It shrugged—a surprisingly human gesture for a creature of finality—and went back to swinging its legs. So now I leave out a thimble of milk and a crumb of bread
The first one, hood slightly askew, was sweeping dust off my clock. Not menacingly. Tidily. Every few seconds, it would tap the hour hand, and a soft chime would echo—not from the clock, but from somewhere deeper, like the sigh of a closing door. And I sleep better knowing that if anything