| Current mood: |  melancholy |
| Current music: | boys night out |
To compose an essay on broken hearts, you must begin with the basics. It will be autumn. And the romance that comes with falling leaves is promised for the first time you hear him laugh. The music will bleed into the static of poor reception. Like the flickering of ashes between the ground, and your grave. Of course there will be a grave. It is assigned to whomever lends their heart out, or lets it blot out of pens into messy love letters.
The first time he kisses you, it will send shivers, but let them go. Let them recede and descend down your spine. But don’t hold on to them.
It will end in a mess of paint. It will sound like the crashing of a piano. And the blood will rush from your fingertips, and settle into rigor mortis. The sound of static will envelop. And your romance will be ashes before the last leaf falls.
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