Emily McIntire

Time heals nothing. Just gives things more space to grow and fester and rot.

It’s fake. Just a chemical reaction that people pretend is more.

Sitting across from her, I uncork the champagne and pour us both a glass, ignoring the way my chest pulls at the sight of her surrounded by the pinks and purples of the sunset. I wasn’t lying when I told her she was beautiful. She is.

Achingly so.