#old lovers

Colleen hated museums. She hated the way she knew the exhibits better than the researchers themselves and the way they made her long for things long gone.

The exhibits were the trees that held her fruit and water while she was Tantalus wandering through the Tartarus of time.

Museums held reminders, but this one held a memory. She could count the amount of times she had seen Nathaniel without a journal on one hand. Him and his journals were synonymous, the scratching of his pen as he spoke and listened, sketching the city as they watched from the shade.

To see his journals lined up in the center of display cases, sprawled out and open, raw and unfiltered–

Nathaniel never let her read his work. “It’s embarrassing,” he would say as he held it tightly above his head. “Write your own.” He would then call over his shoulder while she chased him through the streets.

It felt wrong to peek, but she crept closer, the empty exhibit of photographs filling with fuzz.

The muse is ingrained in history,

an image or text that transcends time.

They are easy to remember

unlike a name, sounds in the air.

People know our art, our work.

They do not know us.

It is the artist’s curse, a trade.

Our anonymous mark on history.

The words were faded and tea stains and time blurred the letters. When she read, it was his voice in her head. The plaque said it had been written nearly 300 years ago, donated to the museum from a private collector. It had been 5 centuries since she’d heard him yet his voice was clearer than a recording.

His next poem was displayed on the wall, a photograph of a journal page seeming gray under the moonlight.

She walked around and around, reading each word until the patterns and tone were scored in her mind.

Nathaniel Haddon, a lover lost to time, they called him. Why was he everywhere now? Why did his name have to cover the city? Posters and billboards, flyers and pamphlets all, celebrating a poet brought to righteous glory, another piece of history retrieved from time.

She hated time. She hated how it flowed around her, leaving her untouched to watch the world change. Its effects stood around her, rivers eroding, cities growing, and people changing.

She missed him. She missed how he laughed and how he smiled. She missed how he spoke, with endless stories and how he listened. She missed how he could understand old English and slang, matching her insults and firing back with equal tenacity. She missed how he was like her, a boulder in time’s riverbed.

She missed how he made her love life again, when the wonders of immortality had been long explored and a bore.

Perhaps it was this longing that brought her back.

And back, and back. Every night, from the opening night to the exhibit's last, she was there. Resting against a display case, surrounded by sorrows, pacing from one room to another then fleeing as the sun rose.

Now, the exhibit was packed up, its photographs and relics set in boxes. The walls were bare and the cases in the center of the rooms were empty the next time she broke in under the moonlight.

It was startling. The skeleton of what had become so familiar. Empty white walls, the stumps of displays with nothing under the glass. It was shocking, how in a few months, mere minutes of her life, something had become so concrete.

It had her standing still for seconds by the windows, heart aching at the sudden loss of Nathaniel once again, so preoccupied she didn’t sense the other presence in the room until they spoke.

“Colleen.”

“Nathan.” His name escaped her lips as an exhale of air, inaudible to mortal hearing, but clear to his supernatural senses. The light of the approaching sun grew stronger, the night sky palling then blushing, yet there they both stood.

For a moment, she couldn’t recognize him. Nathaniel looked different. His hair—once thick and braided down his back—had been hacked short, falling around his ears in gentle waves. Scars she didn’t remember tracked up his arms, dark against pale skin and tattoos danced on his shoulders. He held himself different too, more defensive, but that could just be because of her.

“You seem different.” His accent had changed, his cadence lighter and consonants softer. He had shared long ago that his accents were fabricated through practice, a clever guise to displace any suspicion. Any strange habits something to be dismissed as one from his travels rather than immortality.

“Of course I’m different.” He winced and Colleen paused. She hadn’t meant for her words to come out so sharp. “It’s not the renaissance anymore,” She softened her tone. “You’ve changed too.”

“Blending in with the times.” He agreed with a rueful smile. “You look beautiful.”

And, oh, She missed this too. The way he would compliment her, casually, despite the way her world paused each time. The way he could make her smile without trying.

“I read your poems,” she whispered.

“I saw. I thought you were a ghost when I first saw you.” He sounded relieved for a second,

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have read them,”

“It's fine.” He waved the issue away, cracking back with a joke, “They’re old. Everyone else has read them. It just shows how much you’ve missed me,” He laughed, “What a way to–“

“I have missed you.” The words split from her mouth unbidden. The way Nathaniel stilled would have been funny if her mind hadn’t frozen with panic. “I apologize.” she blurted, chest aching like her dead heart had remembered to beat.

She should leave. Centuries had passed and just like they said, they were both different. This Nathaniel was no better than a stranger.

“I will take my leave.” She turned, and fled, making her way through her usual route out of the museum, from the window to the rooftops with inhuman speed. She always wondered which would win—fight or flight. Now she knew.

“Wait!” His voice cracked the silence like a whip. “Don’t leave!” Her steps faltered, slowing by habit at the panic in his voice. She turned, ribbons of loose hair tangling with the cold wind as Nathaniel followed, appearing on the rooftop a ways across from her.

“Where did you go?” His question echoed in the night, raw and disbelieving. “I couldn’t find you.”

Her breath hitched as she halted, hands trembling despite her best efforts to still them.

“Where did I go.” She echoed, slowly, incredulously. Her voice shook, still soft but on the verge of fraying. She took a step back, “Where did you go, Nathaniel?” Her nails dug into her palms at her side and his flinch when she spoke his name coiled into something dark and satisfying around her dead heart.

“I searched for you for years,” she said, louder now. “Waited, on that bird dung ridden roof, for years.” Her words were coming faster, sharper. “When it snowed, when it hailed, when it was scorching hot.” She stalked towards him now, “And. You. Never. Came.” Her voice cracked, fury stretched too thin to mask the hurt growing beneath it.

“I was in a coma after the earthquake.” Her anger dimmed mid-breath, turning brittle and unsure.

“What?” Her voice was small again. Trembling and weak. Pitiful.

“I got hurt. The quake collapsed the cave I was resting in. Half my bones were shattered. I fed the night prior so I survived, but I had to Sleep.” He glanced away, voice lower. “When I rose, I looked for you. I did, I promise, but I. . . I had gone years without blood at that point, so I was weak and hungry. I lost control and I fell into a blood craze—I didn’t mean to, I just–”

His explanation rushed out faster the further he explained, answers to questions she had asked since they parted rushing out faster than she could comprehend. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I was stupid and desperate and I lost control.”

“You were hurt?”

“Colleen?”

“I checked all our old haunts, every place you ever showed me, but I never found you so I. . . I thought you hated me.” Her voice was barely a whisper and Nathaniel’s stunned expression forced her to look away.

“I’ve never hated you!” He all but flew across the roof, her hands in his grasp before his words had even echoed off the rooftops, like if he held her long enough, tight enough, he could drag time backwards.

“I couldn’t bear the thought, but I couldn't find you, Nathaniel. You vanished. It was like you didn’t want to see me anymore. If I tried harder. . . If I'd known, I would have found you. You wouldn't have woken up alone. You wouldn’t have fallen into the blood craze. I-” Her voice faltered.

“I was alone for centuries, Nathaniel,” His grip tightened around her hands, pulling her closer. “I was alone because I deserved to be,” she whispered.

“No, no no no.” he tried to hush her. “You never—”

“I used your trust against you. You–” She paused, desperately trying to gather her thoughts. “I practically weaponized everything you told me.” She drew a shaky breath, the night air biting at her lungs. “Who does that? And I was a shit friend even before then–” Her voice was silenced by a finger against her lips.

“You’ve been carrying this all this time, haven’t you?” A sad smile tugged at his lips as he looked down at her, though she refused to meet his eyes. “I forgave you then, Colleen.

Silence stretched between them. She didn’t answer, didn’t look up at him, but she tensed, gently twisting her hand out of his grip.

“You weren’t the only one who said things they regret that night.” He murmured, tucking a stray strand behind her ear. “You weren’t the only one who said things they regret.” He paused, his mind running through memories of their past. “You were an amazing friend.”

Her breath stuttered. She could feel the ghost of his hand brushing her hair behind her ears and the phantom feel of fabric on her face. She wanted to believe him. Betrayal, doubt, fear. It all ached, but she wanted to believe him.

“I don’t know why I came here.” she started, ignoring his previous statement. her words dangled uselessly in the air between them, like her hands at her sides, slowly growing cold again. “I saw a flier and I just wanted to see. . . proof, I guess,” she trailed off, hating how timid and hesitant she sounded. “That you survived.”

His brow furrowed at the last part and she glanced away, heat rising to her face despite the small breeze.

“I didn’t even know if Nathaniel Haddon was one of your aliases or unrelated to you, but I needed something that proved you were real, that you weren’t something I made up to feel less alone.” she said quietly.

A beat passed.

“I thought you died," he confessed. His voice held a weight that time could not grant, only mourning.

“I thought you died too.”

A faint smile graced her lips, small and uncertain. “Well. . . I'm alive.”

“You are.”

She shifted, suddenly aware of how close they stood—close enough to touch, to fall back into the past, to remember the ease and comfort he brought.

Close enough to realize how much they had changed.

Close enough to realize that maybe, it was time to move forwards.

“I should. . . I should go” she said, even as her feet stayed rooted in place.

He gave her a faint nod but didn’t move aside. “If that’s what you want.”

Her lips parted, then pressed shut again. She stared at the rooftop tiles, at their uneven shapes, the shape of his boots, before finally looking up.

“I. . .I don’t know what I want,” she admitted slowly. “Could I stay?” She swallowed, “Just for a little while.”

Sous les couleurs indécises du crépuscule, une voix s'élève, douce et enchanteresse. Nulle gorge, nulle lèvre, ne forme ces sons que nulle oreille n'entend, que tu écoutes pourtant, sans en ouïr les nuances. Les étoiles s'avancent en dansant, éveillant lentement les yeux à demi clos de la nuit. Et au centre de cette parade de brillance, se dégage un éclat comme nul autre. Sa silhouette fine et sa mouvance aiguisée te fascinent et t'aveuglent. Cachée derrière tes barreaux, tu n'aperçois que vaguement ce lointain monde en noir et blanc craché par des lumières diffuses. Mais qu'elle est belle cette brindille que tu contemples. Ô combien magnifique ! Ô combien merveilleuse ! Dure comme l'acier trempé et souple comme l'argent, elle se plie et se déplie avec langueur, étirant ses reliefs vers toi sans jamais t'approcher. Elle se joue innocemment de ta fascination, tu le sais. Tu le sais, mais elle... Elle l'ignore. Les lèvres entrouvertes par la stupeur, tu délivres un soupir haché, silencieux et envieux. Tu reconnais en elle un idéal, un but, un rêve. Tu aimerais tant être à sa place, être elle, être libre...

for the first time

in three years

& honestly wondered,

what I ever did see in you

I mean to say,

I see behind your mask now

there is not much there

to be seen, empty platitudes

mostly, a caricature of a life

you asked me how I had been

‘good, you know, as it is’

as for yourself? ‘it was better now

than it had been’ & life was sunny side up again

-

I had stopped yearning

long before you left town

and to see you again

brought me nothing new

you were still nothing more

than just a blipp

a something that happened

and never again

you and your glasses

and pinstriped sweaters

and well, I should have known it earlier

that you just were a false fasade

just talk and nothing else

hell, you never gave me flowers

while you always could give her plenty

later on

and that’s how I knew

I had just been a blipp

in your world too

-//-

It’s a beautiful sadness knowing you still exist and knowing we’ll never cross paths the very definition of bittersweet

It’s the shine in the darkness the path ahead may be rough but at least I know I can see just how lost I really am

It’s the poison in the water and even though I know it’s there I drink and drink, like a camel in the oasis I can taste the almonds

It’s just a whisper on a scream unheard and buried deep covered up for more important things like watching paint try

It’s the ice in the fire gone before it even knew it was there A great example of how quick it can be when everything falls apart

It’s a bad attempt at caring It’s easier to just die alone even with the crushing weight of lonliness that follows every single step I take

Another aftermath. See, sometimes you just get tired, and you must try not to die; and give your love though no one may receive.[19] That was me: throwing my love, my sex, myself, at anyone who got near me, hoping it would stick. This time. B said, when I told her of another of these short-lived hookups, sad half-hearted flings: You press your luck up against his body. Now you’re stuck.[20] Well, I like it down and dirty[21], as you well know. (You remember the bathtubs[22], the blowjobs[23], the bruises.)

it’s your birthday soon, and you’ve been lingering in my mind for too long now—like a song i once loved but can no longer bear to hear. my heart aches, not for what we were, but for the illusion i once held so tightly. the image of loving you, of loving so freely that i was ready to shout it from rooftops, to step into the light, to be proud. with you, fear had no weight. with you, love felt possible.

your presence was electric, a current i couldn’t resist. you made me feel things i never knew i could, never knew i was allowed to. i fell for you, for the idea of you, hard and fast—no brakes, no hesitation. the space between us was always heavy, charged, but never with fear. it was thick with everything we couldn’t say, everything we refused to name. you weren’t my first, but you were the first who made me believe it was mutual. or so i thought.

i loved your voice—the way italian spilled from your lips like a song, the way english stumbled, soft and uncertain. i loved your wild hair, the way your skin felt against mine, the depth of your eyes—dark as bitter chocolate, sweet in a way that lingered too long.

i can still taste the wine you swore i’d love, still feel the pulse of music as you took over the dj booth to play my favorite songs. i can still remember how the world seemed to still when brividi played, how we let ourselves move with it, innocent yet guilty, lost in a moment that was never truly ours.

and then, the message at the airport. i remember how it made my heart race, how it filled me with something dangerous—hope. i thought i was loved. i thought we were something. the late-night calls, the stupid selfies, the videos of your cat meant to bridge the miles between us. it felt like the beginning of something real. but i was the only one who believed in the story we were writing.

when you first spoke of him, i told myself it didn’t matter. he was nothing. but then, he became everything. slowly, our conversations—once full of quiet longing and shared secrets—became endless monologues about him. the way he looked at you, the way vodka burned when he poured it for you, the way his jokes made you laugh. and still, i lied to myself. still, i pretended it was nothing. until it wasn’t. until you told me you were in love with him.

my heart splintered, but i couldn’t pick up the pieces, too afraid to admit they had been broken all along. and yet, the worst was still to come.

did you know i had a letter for you? i spent weeks crafting every word, shaping my feelings into something tangible, something undeniable. i was ready to tell you i loved you. that i wanted to be with you. but then brussels happened. and nothing was ever the same.

seeing you when i landed felt like coming home, like finding the place i had been searching for all my life. but i was a fool to think you had been searching for me too.

god, i was so loud. for someone who had spent years hiding, i was screaming. i was burning. with you, i wanted to be seen, to be known. with you, there was no shame, no silence. i was ready to exist, wholly and without apology.

and then that night. the night you left parliament early to get drunk. you told me we would meet later, and i believed every word. i called—five times? ten? more? all i remember is standing outside that godforsaken building, waiting, knowing deep down that you weren’t coming. i swallowed my tears, forced a smile, pretended i was fine.

hours passed. you never called. i sat alone in a bar, sipping that awful orange soda, the taste of sobriety bitter in my mouth. i waited at a bus stop, heartbroken and lost in a city that suddenly felt like a stranger. it was late. i had nowhere to go. no one to call. when i finally made it back to the hotel, your roommate told me you had never returned to your room. that’s when i knew. that’s when the last illusion crumbled.

the next morning, your message—we need to talk. and still, some foolish part of me hoped. did you know i carried that letter with me? it sat in my bag, unread, unspoken.

we sat on the parliament floor, in that colorful space by the smoking room. the ground was hard, uncomfortable, but i didn’t care. i was with you. my fingers wove through your hair, braiding strand by strand, as you told me about him. about that night. about how it wasn’t what you imagined, how you cried in his bed when he didn’t even check on you after. how it left you hollow. but you weren’t the only one who wept that night.

i wanted to scream at you. to tell you how you had wrecked me. how i hated you for what you had done. but i loved you. i loved you so much i could barely breathe. so i held you as you cried, because it was the only thing i could do.

two and a half years later, and you still live in my mind. i even thought i had moved on. how naive. but then, someone else hurt me, and i realized—I never truly healed from you.

did you know i went back to that city? alone. i walked the same streets, stood under the same sky. and somehow, i fell in love with it. i reclaimed it, piece by piece. you hated that place. so i learned to love it without you. i call it home now. every time i return, i feel like i’m reuniting with the part of me i lost there.

and you? you are nothing but a ghost now. a whisper of what could have been. i hate you for what you did to me. because every time i fall for someone new, i wonder what we could have been if you had just chosen me. but i don’t want to think about you anymore. i don’t want to carry you in my mind.

so celebrate yourself on your big day. but leave me alone. i am done waiting. one day, when our paths cross again, i will be in love with someone who does not use me to understand themselves. i will love without fear.

and though you broke me, i must thank you. because you showed me it was time to stop hiding. i have never been prouder of who i am.

and when you wake up next to him, i hope you remember the love you betrayed. but do not come back. not when it gets hard. not ever.

i am already beyond you.

It doesn't feel like gospel anymore

It feels like scratchy polyester dresses

Your mum put you in to please your nan

At Easter

I am the disciple left off the simnel cake

My place as one debated

To be included in the holy text or not

To be translated into something else for gain

I'm terrified to hear the angels song again

As I know this will be one of the last prayers