The Softest Kind of Ruin

by the win

rarely did. Stillness

r breath fogged the glass above her coffee. He watched her silhouette drift throu

ak if she stepped too hard. He liked that about her. The rest

but it wasn't weakness. It was someth

ke she was trying to find herself and always falling just short. Most people didn't see what he did. They saw quiet.

. It was the absence. The ache beneath her calm.She lived

ways

de back into place. He wouldn't move yet. Wouldn't touch he

o

were late to it, clumsy and afraid. They didn't und

elty wa

was p

for noise. He s

somehow-he

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supposed

. A narrow hallway. A target.A lif

r bag and a book with a broken spine.The light caught

dn't s

Her gaze s

ired. U

r keys. Bent t

drawn.He could've-He s

s tremble. Not from

he first time

yea

══════

llowe

o reason. But something uncoiled inside hi

death- But the st

nerve

once, outside the books

hours later. Not near her. Never n

excision. Like pruning a vine that had

ver no

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hes her

top opposite her buildin

window cracked

.Soft, like the page o

e way her breath

══════

't he to

self this e

ut something in him-somet

on a list. Not a task. N

somethi

thing he doesn