#secayo

we are each half of something greater, as the legends say.   we are both carved in lockstep pieces. and when the bones of our fingers tangle like jigsaw puzzles i swear upon the sun and the moon and everything bright in the sky that all my jagged lines could find home between yours,      and all your frayed edges could find comfort next to mine.   it's a pity, my beloved half,       that greater does not always mean better,      or even good.   it's a pity, my beloved half,     that two halves don't always make a whole     and two puzzles pieces don't always fit in one picture     and two hearts that beat together don't always cease together.    it's such a pity, my beloved half,       sometimes two halves can make a whole heart                                                                   a whole story but sometimes, my beloved,  sometimes, two halves do not come together so much as collide and all the spaces between them go up in flames like a volcano      like a burning star exploding into supernova: merciless. brilliant. blinding. deadly.    and what, the legends ask, is left in the aftermath? why, my beloved half,  we picked up the shattered pieces of it all--      of you, of me, of the world we burned in the spaces between us-- we cradled their serrated edges in the nest of our joined hands we anointed them in the bloody rivers in the creases of our palms.   oh, and we kissed those broken-glass pieces,       and we called it love. oh, and we swallowed those broken-glass pieces      and we called it remembrance.  oh, and we whispered with broken-glass voices,      and we called it holy.   and one day, my beloved half, they will bury the broken-glass pieces--      of you, of me, of the world we held in the spaces between us-- and they will call it history.

every fairytale has its misunderstood meaning. mine was simple: beautiful princess, locked in a crystal palace, in the need of a handsome prince whose will is strong enough to save her from the dragon that protects the entrance. but that monster is always warm. soothes me at night when no prince comes to me, looks over me when sickness comes, and his loyalty wins over every single beautiful face. men whose love is fed by greed, i had enough. some others whose hands had only wanted flesh, plenty of them too. i'm a crown and prize for rescuing, power and dominance for such bravery. no one like him. my dragon flies the sky for better days to come my way, burns down the shadow of unloyal bodies, cleans the path my feet must touch once i step outside. being rescued is not in my book, i don't need that. warmth, I have it. protection, i have it. shelter, i have it. company, i have it. a crown, it's mine. a realm, all mine. why is my fairy tale so misunderstood? you don't see it this way, those eyes so full of wonder and fire, yours. you are the brave, the winner, the answer and holder of the key, my love.

She-wolf, with a tethered heart and a cold soul, You've been bleeding on the inside from the devil's dark touch. He thought he had broken you. But you lifted your tired head, and smiled at him with bloodstained teeth. Wolves like you can never truly be tamed, can they?

the first time i fall for you, i am seven. i see the punch coming too late to stop it, but i can keep you out of the way.  i can let it hit my shoulder. i can be the one who falls on the scratchy pavement.  i wish my knuckles weren't so bloody,  but your lips are split and your nose is bleeding, and you are still smiling at me, so it doesn't matter, really.  the second time i fall for you, i am sixteen.  i see the heartache coming too late to stop it,  but i can keep you out of the way.  i can let it hit me in the gut.  i can be the one who falls with my heart in my throat.   i wish my blood wasn't beating so hot,  but your eyes are warm and bright and happy,  and you are still laughing with me,  so it doesn't matter, really.  the last time i fall for you, i am twenty-three. i see the shot coming too late to stop it, but i can keep you out of the way. i can let it hit the shield in my hands. i can be the one who falls out the broken train. i wish your fingers didn't wrap so easy round a trigger but my fingers are calloused in all the wrong places, and you are still reaching for me, so it doesn't matter, really.  it feels just the same every time-- slow, sudden, breathtaking:      all i can hear is my pulse screaming in my ears      all i can see is your eyes as they watch me      all i can do is close my eyes and hope      the landing won't hurt as much as they say