Fjordur #33 (Patreon)

In the midst of a scorching desert, a stray traveler staggered on the sweltering sand, with cracked lips, desiccated throat, and blisters on his feet, in search of an oasis to quench his thirst. Every drop of sweat obliterating hope of survival. His companion, a covetous vulture, circling above in anticipation and a malicious desire to devour his corps. It was but a matter of time. Powerless to move further, he collapsed on the ruthless sand and looked up towards the heavens, with a prayer on his lips for a miracle. The angel of death descended, and he embraced it.

She longed to forget him, and each time she tried, she remembered why she never forgot him before. And the reason was simple. She had loved him for so long that, even though she knew she shouldn't, she couldn't stop. Not because she didn't want to, but because, after all this time, she didn't know how. And so, rather than forget, she mourns what could have been, and all the what ifs stream from her eyes and stain her face with all the should have beens that never were, and with all the would have beens that will never be.

The plane tickets weren’t cheap, but he said I wasn’t adventurous. I barely got a glimpse of his phone on the plane. Gin, vodka and rum just weren’t enough for this 12 hour flight. After we left the country, we hiked through a rainforest; however, we were still in bed by eight when his stomach rumbled from the water well. The conures here were free and monkeys walked the streets, but I didn’t feel like posting pictures. Everything he thought I was, he said that I was not. When I came back home alone, I told everyone we broke up.

https://youtu.be/VqrC0-r-tcU