#prinsilver

Fit it into a string of a guitar that only I could play?

Would it be selfish if I branded you as cursed,

Isolating you in a chamber of the mundane that I claim?

Would it be selfish to weave your soul into me, just so I could feel you more?

Does it scare you, my love, the intensity of us?

That maybe... maybe my love isn't healing, but a consumption of us.

Would it be bad if I plucked out your eyes,

Decorating my rings with them to keep watch?

Would it be bad if I cut you open alive,

Like a white paper,

A poet without words,

An artist without paint,

An intellect without mind,

That burning fog was inevitable as both danced around the edge of their merge, both deprived of the longing they craved.

One is hollow, a dry landscape of hot coal, while the other runs so deep that even the brave fear to tread. The desert wanted to drown in that turquoise blue, even if it meant destroying the very atoms of its existence and giving up its form entirely.

“Lia….” Her husband whispered, his voice wavering, because lying in his wife's arms was the skeletal corpse of their baby they had buried months ago.

Betrayal again.

God, would I ever be able to find peace?

Is love not for me?

Would it hurt You to not wound me?

The god watched, their eyes misty. They looked at the chains around their hands, the golden cage they were trapped in. Why?

Only because of a mistake...

A mistake to love a mortal.

A choice to follow their heart.

They were banished as punishment, and she was rewarded with a broken life.

"And other times?" asked the boy, his lean frame shrinking into himself to prevent the cold.

"Other times it leaves you hollow. It forces you to eat your own sorrow, drink your tears, and stab the very heart keeping you alive."

The boy shuddered, horrified. The man didn't comfort him; instead, he found it endearing how much hope the boy's eyes held for love.