andtheyshallinherittheearth
We were in love. Maybe we weren't honest about it, but it was love. It had to be. Now we're surrounded by new people, people who don't understand this dishonest love. They've begun to stand between us and beside us and they're destroying us like a lightening bolt turning the sands of us into glass. Now we're shattering and there's nothing I can do about it. You chose the outsiders over us, and now I'm left in the cold.
There is comfort in belief. Belief in yourself, belief in a higher power. Belief connects you to the world around you. I want to believe in you, I really do. An almighty creator. A reason, a plan. There is comfort in belief, but not reason.
I've been listening to you tell stories about this girl since I fell in love with you. Here I stand, arms wide and heart full and your eyes can only see this stranger. She doesn't know the way your eyes soften. She doesn't know about the dark sticky parts of you. The scary ones. She isn't close enough to feel the heat. She's too fragile for your fire. Special snowflakes melt when exposed to something real.
We had always been close. Interlocked, like we were made for one another. It was perfect. We could be loud, strange. unapologetically so. We could be quiet, our silences long paragraphs between us. We let new people in, strangers who couldn't possibly understand these long pauses, these meaningful glances, these whispers in the dark. He chose the strangers. Now our quips and conversations turn to a flow of snark and sarcasm. Each biting remark opening fresh wounds deeper than before. Like a door that has been slammed one too many times, we've become unhinged.
It's strange, the way you walk around. Strange the way you talk to people. All people, any people. You move through crowds like you own them. The ground quakes beneath you, and moon and the stars will bow to your tongue. You leave bodies in your wake. You change them, remake them, and the path behind you is littered with corpses of the their old selves. The ground around you remains displaced, shaken.
Table top. Counter top, little mechanical ticks and tocks. He has spent so long bent over these tables he has become part of them. Part of the machines he's been building for so long. Heart beats to the rhythm to the second hand.
"We're all sleeping in circles or talking shit in diners." That wonder years lyric describes the phenomena. We sit in these booth seats like they're weekly church pews. We sip on coffee like communion wine and the week's grievances are our hymns. The waitress is a part of our congregation.
He didn't let them suffer. He knew how to stop the pain quickly, how to keep them from the worst of it. Of course, he needed the screams, the look of terror in their eyes. He needed the power. But he didn't need them to suffer. He knew their small bodies could only handle so much. He violated them with his own only until he knew they were done. After, he killed them quickly, smoothly. Before they even knew what was happening their tiny hearts stopped beating. This was his offering to God, his last shred of humanity.
And he promised it will never happen again. He just wasn't thinking. He wasn't himself. He'd been drinking, and they were in a fight. She was all legs, and skimpy black dress. The kind that you would have worn ten years ago. Before the vows of forever. The next business trip, however, he came back with perfume on his collar. She didn't have to accuse him, he just packed his things
My record is shotty, I'll admit it. I haven't been the best at showing up for classes. Sometimes the weight of being in that room is too much. Too much sadness for things that once were. Too much lonely. Sometimes, I just need breakfast. I know you're disappointed, but you gave up on me long before I gave up on you and we both know it's true. "Why apply yourself" is a silly question to ask when you checked out on us a long time ago. So yeah, I came into class forty-five minutes late with a cup of coffee in my hand but you didn't do anything when they turned my only place of refuge into a war zone, so who should really be disappointed here?
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writing since 2016 · 25 entries · 22 days shown up
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