(her mind is a time machine)
she sits on the counter-top
in the corner below the cabinets
(his tattooed arms are wrapped around her
she's wearing nothing but a smile)

her left leg is above the silverware
her right leg is above cooking utensils
(their silent goodbye can't be heard
but the sound of it echoes for miles)

her head rests between lunch bags and medicines
(one last kiss like goodbye is going out of style)

the only light turned on is above the sink
it reaches its way almost to all ends of the kitchen
(her mind is a time bomb)


A/N: sitting around after our goodbye, wondering why we said goodbye at all... why do we torture ourselves?