A Sherlock Poem (Acceptance)
This poem actually started off as an assignment for school so i had to change a few quotes and stuff to make sure it wasn’t obviously related to Sherlock, soooooo yeah. Here we go.
Acceptance I stare at the gilded letterings marking your name. They glint in gold, though they will never be as radiant as when the words first rolled off your tongue, first we met, and nowhere near as worth. They don’t do you justice, no. Can’t capture how your name sounds in that cello-purr voice, and the accompanying peacock-tilt of your head. (Can’t capture the way my heart instantly leaps to dance to your gavotte.) I reach out. Brush the black marble, and it scalds me with its chill. For a moment, my mouth burns with the taste of too-hot coffee—your coffee—instead of sawdust on dry lips. I remember that was the first time you made coffee; the first time you ever made me anything. (Come back. Come back, and make me one last cup. I promise I won’t complain about the sugar this time.) My knees buckle, and I find myself gripping the ogee top. Look, i’m leaning on you, even now. You, the foundation that has kept me strong. You, the only thing I ever lived for. (You. I was so alone, and then I met you.) I was filthy stained glass, and you were the cloth that scrubbed away at coats and coats and more coats of my pain, and misery until you were nothing more than a rag. (I owe you so much.) Then you were my angel with broken wings, but you were nothing short of beautiful. Where others saw blood on your trembling hands, I saw nothing but the scars they bear. Where all else met with darkness in your supernova eyes, I glimpsed— Everything. Every dewdrop thought, every splinter of emotion, every shadowed truth. I saw me, the way you did. I heard you wonder how was it I could love something so sad and so torn and it broke my heart to think you didn’t know that was exactly what you did for me. (Did you expect me to set you free, after you let me see the universe through you?) The taste of salt and sadness fills my mouth, again. How dare you abandon me like this? When the last memory I have of you is the impossible tears on your face, because angels don’t cry, because my angel doesn’t cry, no, not when I was supposed to protect you Like you were sent to protect me. How dare you leave me with this useless therapist who insists I shouldn’t be seeing your face everywhere I look after this long? (But she doesn’t know the sight of you is the only thing that keeps me alive these days.) How dare you jump, when you knew full well you couldn’t fly anymore and I couldn’t catch you before you hit the ground? How dare you whisper “goodbye” with the very same mouth that promised you would never give up on me, that you would stick by me until the end of time? (The same curve of forbidden-fruit lips that I have longed to brush with my fingertips. If only I still had the chance.) How dare you be so naïve to think that you could spare me, save me, from whatever was breaking you apart from the inside? Because, I can assure you, I have been the one slowly rotting away ever since you— Since you—
Died.
I stare as tears patter onto the gilded letterings marking your name. This is your grave. It has been for years. And I know I should try to forget. Move on. Get on with life. But each time I come back, I realise I am nowhere near letting go.
