Saya
That Dear One
1798, France
There are times where I think of you bitterly. Times where I can not believe I have stayed with you so long. Then, little tendrils of smoke come from my heart and wrap around those bitter feelings, taking them back inside my pulsing muscle, and they are replaced with feelings which need to cling to you like shivering child's fingers. They need to feel your skin. They need to touch you and know you're there.
I can spend an eternity trying to figure out the answer I have been wanting to know.
I want to know why I love you. I need to know.
But I probably will spend an eternity not knowing. All I can cling to is the feeling of needing you. This mysterious feeling which tells me nothing, yet tells me everything I need to know, but without words.
When you are kind, you tell me it does not need to be told in words. Some stories don't have words. Our story can be a simple glance of smiling eyes. Kind eyes. It can be touch. It can be a gesture of love so subtle it takes me an eternity to figure out.
YOU ARE READING
Demon Stories
Short StoryKilling: an act of love so sweet your body falls victim to such an ecstasy the staccato of the heart bursts your very soul and you perish into the stars above like so many unfortunates who have met the one called demon. Beau, Violette, Diana, Josep...
