𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒐𝒎𝒚, robin buckley

vi.

"the only mistake that we didn't make
was run

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she was caving in. caving in to her mind, caving in to her ghosts. caving in to her devils, the ones that kept her awake the most. she was caving in to those thoughts that favoured someone else. caving in to the love that made her feel desired. 

desired, but not loved.
but of course, she was blind, and no glasses could restore her sight.

she was her addiction, her liquor, her drug. a slow, cruel torture that pulled her in. one that kept her in her inescapable clutches. she needed, she realised, to break free. free from her, her web, her love. from it all. 

but she couldn't, because she was under a trance, addicted, dying for more. she'd die with it, die without it. what was the use, she said, if both the roads lead to the same mural? the same fate the gods had seen on repeat like a broken cassette.

the true fiction of falling in love was kept unguardedly safe within her fingers, hanging from broken strings that threatened to snap under the heavy weight they carried. the way their hearts were a bit too heavy and their thoughts a little too full. 

the very weight that pulled her, and now she fell to deep, felt too much. and now she sank for it all felt a bit too much. a little too much for her mad heart to handle and drugged brain to know.

a little too much for two little beings with a little too much to dream.

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now look what we've done"