ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ what appears to be a familiar figure lacks its sharpness, its battered apparition and dampened colors; what used to be grey blooms in shades of life, what once lacked vigor now holds a great amount of acute intensity. casey, casey but alive, you think — casey but not wrought into a gone child. / / but how? why? is that a hallucination, an illusion of the longing heart? you shake your head and inhale, slowly, gradually, as if weighing your decisions. ( you were the one who left him! — you were the fool, the one who strayed away in fright. you do not deserve to mutter a word. ) ㅤ ❛ … casey? ❜ you decide to say, voice merely above what’s considered a whisper. your hands hover over his shoulder before they dare to touch ( touch is poison, touch is — ), but they do, although it is just a faint brush, akin to the flutter of a butterfly’s wings.
ㅤ ❛ — … what … what are you doing here? ❜
01. → @debnrough.