our hell is a good place.

we have decorated with teeth in jars and bones in bowls, letting diamonds sleep upon the windowsills where they will soak up enough sun to purify our breathing room. perhaps that is what we'll call this--the breathing room. we were so clean for so long and surely we can be that way again. i am taking in what you mean, knowing that this case is what it means to be a good friend. i could stay here with you forever, but i have to leave in the end. enormous raindrops fall upon our faces and into our open mouths because we don't know what its like to stop speaking. i am afraid that if i don't say this now, you will never hear it. in the end, i love you madly in our breathing room.