My first instinct was to swim away and hide like I always did- But it felt like there was that same invisible string that wrapped around the thin osseins of my ribs, tying me and luring me to him- He had the end of the rope in between his fingers, p...
I hate the way you mock me once I complain about injustice from the salamanders living amidst me, ones I am obliged to live with, say 'Oh darling, clearly you have not dealt with what I have dealt with' I love you, but I will complain as I please.
I hate the way you use the words you taught me. I hate the way you threaten me by exposing all the wrongdoings I have committed as if those sins were not perpetrated against the zealous flesh of yourself. I hate the way you promise something and later pretend it was an empty word said to an emptier person. I hate the way you would refuse to look at me, you would refuse to acknowledge I am the only thing you have ever felt that was real to you (your words and utters, mine, they are not). I hate the way you talk down to me like I was a stupid child. Compiling that; I hate the way you think I am stupid, and I do not understand once you scoff under your breath. And I hate- Oh, I hate the way I forgot all the things I hate about your doings once you say the simplicity of three words.
Despite the aforementioned, I am yours for evermore R
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❊
You asked me earlier with a dull lingering voice, 'If you could be a flower, what flower would you be, and why? Answer, quickly' With that, I replied 'I am sorry. I am chagrined to admit that I don't know, dear; I will have to answer that the next time I see you.' You scoffed and tutted at me like an adult, but I chose to ignore it (although, I mention it now. The scoff and mockery in your scolding tut is not ostracized how I was, and is orchestrated vexingly in my head) Nevermind that- I shall answer it now with the words you taught me on the paper and pencil you gave me; Alongside the feelings, you've inflected.
I, my darling, would be a rose, one drained of its vermilion pigment, to be more distinct. A white rose I would be. I heard somewhere it expresses youth and immaculateness. And me, well: I know so little about the world. The more you say, the less I know. I find myself dumbfounded and small when speaking to you. Youthful, as if a governor speaking to their ward. I know our link is far more complex than a governor and their ward. To think of this now (in actuality) it would be strange to even compare our attachment to that (If I could erase what I just wrote, I assure you, I would, but just like words and the real world, there is nothing on the tip of the pen you gifted me to remove the grey and messy writing. Something I feel like you did deliberately)
Yours for evermore, R
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Oh, how late the night grows when you are not in the presence of our shared heavy breaths! The moon pacing on eggshells and the stars take up the universe's time as they align into constellations and stories belonging to mythological gods, and goddesses. I wish you weren't trapped between four walls and charms that ricochet. I yearn you were here to see her become. She is beyond artistic, and in the state of grace. She lays on my chest, clutching it tightly as her eyes flutter shut. Her lashes are light contrasting to her dusky hair. Once thoroughly dehydrated, her hair falls in small ringlets.
