second chance simon.
it's only after the cops raid his home that i realise i could have saved you this time.
i always see these things too late, i know. and you would have laughed all soft and understanding and told me
you can't go saving every broken soul, you know.
you have to leave some to the fire and some to the angels.
you have to let them have their revelations, let them fly or fall on their own.
then, the loss.
the guilt was stronger than anything i'd ever felt before.
-
i am still twelve years old and curled on simon's bedroom floor.
i am still thinking about all the signs i missed, and missing them again.
i am still stood over the headstone in the rain on his birthday.
january 22nd tugs at my flesh and bursts my veins and presses hard against my eyes.
(i still make a wish on its final moment and hope it reaches you in your endless tomb.)
-
there are so many things i wish i had told you.
your hair reminds me of magical midnight, and when it sticks up in tufts i think of the poor blackbird whose feathers you stole.
my favourite thing in the world is your voice when it scrapes out of your oesophagus and scratches over my almost silent singing.
when you smile, i keep count of how many times the joy reaches your eyes. when that happens, i feel like i could set sail in them.
you gave me my first taste of spiritual freedom.
i think you were supposed to be my soulmate, but we got mixed up somehow. or something.
i am terrified of what these chemicals could turn you into.
i completely believe i would physically drown if you ever left me.
you are flawed, but you are also the most beautiful thing in my life.
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Comments
you have to leave some to the fire and some to the angels.
you have to let them have their revelations, let them fly or fall on their own.
your hair reminds me of magical midnight, and when it sticks up in tufts i think of the poor blackbird whose feathers you stole.
you've got a talent that not many people have. this got me close to crying, and not many pieces of short prose do.
(it's like i can hear the rain drumming the rooftop and fogging the windows of wherever the narrator is lying. i don't know if that's what you had in mind, but your words painted this beautiful picture in my mind. well done.)
--
magic is science in simplest form.
*Traditional-Artists
=Inked-Page
*project-improve
[link]
have a lovely day
--
" ...he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same, and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire."
--
30 amnesias; après moi, le déluge. je suis désolé.
take good care of yourself, you mean alot to the earth.
--
30 amnesias; après moi, le déluge. je suis désolé.
[it keeps raining when i think of him.]
--
30 amnesias; après moi, le déluge. je suis désolé.
--
" ...he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same, and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire."
but if you have another chance to get them back, you should give it all you've got.
--
30 amnesias; après moi, le déluge. je suis désolé.
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