He put his heart in a box and buried it deep, beneath the figures of speech and the civil smile.
She traced the map of his conscious life with fervid eyes - familiar ruins and flat blue rivers and listed streets. Everything led to no particular place.
She looked to the body's glitches (rare and bright). Sometimes, there were sweat traces. Fingers twitched. He drew himself in as soon as he saw her thin thread of a smile.
One day, the growing stink will lead her to the troubled earth. He’ll pass her the shovel - a broken boy again - too tired for lies.