hiraethbound

they lie untouched on their ice cold thrones, made of scorching, fleshy corpses and cover themselves in curtains of pristine white, sweeping bloodied fingers on someone else's hands, as theirs come back clean.

they've never tasted heat, and their smiles are so far away, but it pulls you in like a green light at the end of the dock, and you think you can climb up the bodies of your friends, your kind, and your fixed gaze upon a siren's call of rich dreams under a glass dome pulls you away from their dead eyes. 

She's gotten used to watching him.

It was almost like second-nature at this point. In a crowded room, in an empty space, in any place at all, the first person she looks for is always the same. It's him, without a doubt. 

At this point, it wasn't even conscious, the way she did it. Her eyes would gravitate for familiar, styled-brown hair and a charming smile before she was even aware of it. Then just as soon as those glimmering eyes met hers, she'd feel her traitorous heart lurch in her chest. It was almost painful.

She was lucky that those eyes just somehow, happened to be searching for her too. Not all the time, but enough to make her stay. Enough to make her hope.

"What're you looking at?" He says, with an easy laugh.

She wants to say: You, always you.

Instead, she scoffs, "Your ugly face."

There's something about the way his face scrunches up into laughter, the way his eyes turn into crescents, the gummy smile. It was all too much. 

and I’m saying goodbye to you,

who has already gone, with

a fragment of my soul

you used to keep it so discreet, avoiding watchful eyes and saying all the right prayers. with clasped hands and closed eyes, you whispered your wishes to the heavens above. you did everything right: legs-crossed, placid smile, practiced preaches and recitations, everyone would look at you, and think that you were so good, so pure.

but one day was enough to tear it all apart. the universe tore her away from you, left you sobbing, begging, most of all, praying, and it was then you realised, for the first time, you've never felt so unheard. you did everything right, so why has it all gone wrong? they didn't give her back to you, you had to watch her go six feet under, and everything you knew fell to pieces - ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

oh, you've done it now.

you stepped upon the cross, you ripped away the holy books, and raised hell from its depths. you tossed your faith into raging waters, and screamed your sins into the world. they'll look at you, and shake their heads. but what the hell do they know? to you, they all look so dead.

When I look at her, I think of the sunset - quiet, peaceful, filled with a sort of sentimentality you can't seem to shake, and it seizes at your heart with an ache that feels alot like longing for someone you can't have.

She moved like the way waves ripple upon the gentle cast of a stone. There was almost something amorphous about her, like as if she’d disappear if you failed to grab on with two hands - the same way a daydream you’d thought up on a long ride home vanished into thin air the minute you reached your stop. She reminded me of sitting alone on a beach, as the sun sinks into the horizon and washes the world in inky black.

You opened my eyes to something new, but I'll never tell you that. I wouldn't want the fond glint in your eyes to turn into repulse, or worse, sympathy. I can't say it to you, nor can I to anyone else, so I'll bleed my heart on these empty pages.

Don't get me wrong. This isn't a love letter. I doubt I know what love is. This is a confession, the ramblings of my heart that bears too much to stay silent. Perhaps it sounds like love, but I don't know what love is and I'm not entirely sure it's you.

If love is watching the way you move and thinking there's no one else quite as graceful, if it's also thinking that your stumble remains just as captivating as your pirouettes, if it's quiet contentment at watching you type away on your computer, if it's the way you flash through my mind when a song comes on the radio, if it's talking to you and thinking over and over that this feels like home, if it's helplessly gravitating towards you, if it's wanting to drown in your voice, if it's all that and more, I'l be damned.

“It’s Thursday, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s Friday. You see: you drifted away on Saturday so on Sunday, you decided to die, you realised you were still here on Monday, and so you cried away your Tuesday, you cursed the world on Wednesday, and slept through all of Thursday. On Friday, you woke up - a stranger."

“I don’t remember that.”

white, crackles sharp across the sky like a sweeping slash of claws right across the heavens. zeus strikes onto the earth. rumbling, heart-rattling, groans from the blue.

i've never liked the night, but because of you i do.

the night has become liberating, like taking off a mask after a long day, or perhaps i only feel that way because i'm only ever me when i'm with you. it hurts, sometimes, that i can only see you when the rest of the world sleeps, that i have to fight against siren calls all night lest i start to share the same, quiet breaths with the rest of the world. because then i wouldn't be with you, and our hearts would beat out of sync and everything would feel incomplete.

i've come to think of the night as safe, as a lapse in time, like a loophole of the universe, that lets me share your warmth. i've come to think of the night as you. in the day, we exchange glances and hidden smiles, speaking in languages that we've made our own. but its in the night that my fingers can explore your skin, trace the scars on your back, watch the constellations connect in your eyes, and we can laugh freely and together.

so, every morning i wait.

i wait for the sun to retreat into the horizon to paint the world in shades of black and blue. i wait for streetlamps to come alive to wash the pavements in an orange glow, for front doors to shut with a click, for the jangling of keys to subside as they get thrown under ragged mats.

then, when the universe has stilled, you'll sneak out from the back door. the cold will run up your arms. the wind will whistle and whisper in your ear, weaving itself through your hair and curling itself around your skin. you've never felt so damn alive.

you knock on the door, and i'll let you in, all fumbling hands and hushed laughs. then the universe shuts its eyes, and everything comes to rest, and we'll hold each other until the next sunrise.