|| Noun ||
I used to exist in pictures like permanent tattoos —- at least that was what I thought. But I was just a stain which like a dirty linen, you washed off disgustedly. And though I burned the photograph of you and me into ashes, then into dust which scattered with heaven’s sighs, that did not do me any justice at all. Burning the physical doesn’t change the fact that it’s engraved on every inch of what I can touch and every breath I take that leaves my broken body.