My love for you is a dead weight I have dragged behind me for years now, a rotting corpse I somehow convinced myself I could still revive if I just kept searching this desert for the mythical spring from which flows the water of regeneration. I just needed more time, I told myself, always just a little more time, a few more steps, another chance for redemption and reunion. Yet I have stumbled across this desert for years and still I have nothing to show for my pains but a heart nearly as desiccated as yours and no hope, no hope left at all. I do not even hallucinate your touch or your voice in my weakest moments; I have no strength to pretend you might show me such mercy. Even your corpse contrives to ever avoid my eyes.
If there is an oasis here in this wasteland, it is the wind which gently brushes my cheek and whispers with my Mother’s voice, “You owe Them nothing.” And I am incapable of feeling sorrow anymore, for you or myself, but I might be ready to feel pride. And anger.
Oh. My. Gosh.
Every time I think I have a favourite, you go and write something this incredible. I LOVE this. It’s so evocative and beautiful and yet so dark and almost terrifying? It gives me a lot of emotions. It’s really great writing. ☺️
Aaahh, thank you so much! Your comments really mean the world to me, I can’t state that enough. I’ve really been doubting myself lately and I don’t get much interaction here anymore, so your comments are always such bright spots. Not to pressure you or anything though! You’re just so kind to comment and I really appreciate it.
Awe, you’re so welcome!