𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: Nearby restaurant 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄: July 1, 2021 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓: @saintbelleamy
There is an ode to sorrow that swells in the image of Bellamy, and it has created a martyr. They’ve become an iridescent light that moths flutter toward, a beacon of despair that insects finds solace in, as though they could touch the untouchable. Attain the unattainable. At once, Bellamy has become the center of their world, their devotion, their love — and at the core of this fantasy is a spire who holds nothing but their own melancholy in the palms of their hands. They could drown the world with tears.
“Come with me,” he whispers it into the ear of his beloved. At some other time, in some other world, it would have been a request, a sigh of earnesty, but time is cruel and has morphed it into something of a command. August moves without looking back, holds tight to the hand that would have otherwise vanished. He does not speak again until they have left the Castillo, does not dare look at the betrayal wearing last nights clothing.
—
He parks them at the edge of a cliff.
“Explain,” it’s cold, calculated, “Don’t act stupid, you know what I’m talking about.”
What objects of devotion tend to forget is this: all things must succumb to nothingness after a time. It is only the illusion of time that creates immortality.
