you're a perfect liar.

he knew that from the very beginning he laid eyes on you. hospital garden, decent sketchbook, walkman on your ears, pink floyd on the mix, cigarette between your lips.

and at that moment the idea of you exist in his life once again, at that one bright sunny day he walked down that hallway and saw you being rolled in— he found his own heart slowly falling, and falling, lower and lower to no return, like a flatline, like a funeral, in realization that it's you.

your smile is no longer yours, like you weren't there anymore. your color is gone. pieces of you are everywhere even if you're only there. your heart is gone. thousand faces of you on the polaroids, but they're no longer you. no longer the shining you. they're just mere papers now.

he would find himself standing at a corner, still like a statue. his hands clenching so tightly on his side, eyes taking you in, every fiber of your being, making sure you're really there. that you're still there. that you're still holding on.

that's all he wanted to say, so badly. wanted to hold your hand for, and look into your eyes if he ever could as he save his breath, his expression, his feelings, his emotions and tell it to you.

please hold on.