Everything gets turned into this. This thing. This taste. The gunmetal sour that slowly turns sweet. The love that dies over a bite and kiss. I still feel her...

As I write, I hear the rapping of the animals outside my wooden door, barricaded with more wood and metal on the inside. From the outside, I know I'd look odd. Wood in this metal society. But I'm not the odd one...

She lays upstairs, breathing; at least I think she is.