See the resemblance? We don’t either.
She stares at me, making no sign that she understands. But when I reach out to touch her, she doesn’t move. And she doesn’t stab me.
I reach my free hand into the head-wound of a fallen zombie and collect a palmful of black, lifeless blood. Slowly, with gentle movements, I smear it on her face, down her neck and onto her clothes. She doesn’t even flinch. She is probably catatonic.
Saving her life was as simple as playing dead.
Reblog this if you believe in love at first bite.
I try valiantly not to stare at her as she arches her back and stretches, adjusting her bra strap and letting out a little whimper. I can see every muscle and vertebra, and since she’s already half naked I imagine her without skin. I know from grim experience that there is a beauty to her inner layers, too. Marvels of symmetry and craftmanship sealed away inside her like the jewelled movements of a timepiece, fine works of art never meant to be seen.
He’s dead but our love for R is alive. Are you excited?
Don’t be creepy.
(via suchasadaffair)
Reblog this if you’re on the hunt… for #ZombieLove.
❝We smile, because this is how we save the world. We will not let Earth become a tomb, a mass grave spinning through space. We will exhume ourselves. We will fight the curse and break it. We will cry and bleed and lust and love, and we will cure death. We will be the cure. Because we want it.❞
