He stares straight ahead. He fantasizes about the bubbling in the spoon again, but it doesn't calm him. Nothing calms him. He aches. No neurochemical in the world could stop that.
"You're all I have left," he says, as calmly as though he were talking about the traffic.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2013-06-17 01:46 am (UTC)"You're all I have left," he says, as calmly as though he were talking about the traffic.