We were bound by common things like two moths drawn towards the same flame, circling each other in a dance that only you and I knew the steps to. A song that only the two of us knew the lyrics to. A place that only we could visit. Or so I thought.
I feel like I’ve been standing in the rain for way too long. My black hair is wet and matted, and water drips down my forehead, diluting the salty taste of lacrimation on my tongue. I feel like I’ve been standing in the rain for way too long, staring blankly at the shadow you cast in the pale moonlight as you walk away into the darkness, holding an umbrella for someone else. The sound of your footsteps drown out the pitter-patter of rain on gray asphalt, each step plunging another bullet into my heart.
I thought we shared something special, something sacred. I placed my dreams in a wooden box carefully two years ago and gave it to you and you opened it, flung its contents to the floor and filled the box with dust, afterthoughts and cheap, deformed imitations of memories only I could create.
You knew that this day would come. You knew that I’d find your collection of wooden boxes. And you knew, as you ran a finger slowly over each of them, taking in the intoxicating smell of oak, feeling the intricate carvings of one box beneath your skin while your eyes set themselves greedily on the next…
That you’d never look back.
And that this too shall pass.
You disappoint, my friend.
you shit i thought this was a love letter. i am disappoint
WHY AM I MISS FORSORS
As usual, you never fail to capture my undivided attention with your writing. Keep up the awesome work, B!