i sat with my anger long enough until she told me her real name was grief
T
he thread of your skin against mine is forever imprinted into the fine spires of my spine and fibres of my life. The sweat trickles between those small valleys and it clings to my stomach as your kisses once did. You, who were so holy, high in your tower of spun glass and sunlight. You, who blinded me as I should not have been. I let myself get lost in the clouds of your existence, washed away by the tidal force of your pleasures.
Every strawberry that pressed against your lips is a testament to the strength it took to keep mine from pressing closer, eliminating any space that dared flit between us. Perhaps you’d been a witch, and even so I still would have been under your spell time and time again.
Years kept us separated and I never wrote. I don’t want to. The agony of loving you is as barbaric as being parted. Do you feel the way I bled beneath your gaze? That pain swelters in the summer heat. Blossoms of fever spread along my skin, little suns beneath my cosmos and I grin.
This is a godless people. Here your throne lies empty, in crumbles. I’ve never been anything less than a predator, and how I yearn to sink my teeth into flesh again.
Not even the desert can keep me from your home.
So the markets envelope me in the afternoon. Umbrellas, hung high with the awnings and water drips, offer little reprieve from Solis’ demanding gaze. He looks at everyone who would damn his country. Does he know that Solterra is already forsook just as Terrastella had been? If Vespera loved us, she has forgotten.
If you loved me, do you still remember?
Strawberries press against my lips now with a few coins passed over a stall and weary eyes tracing the trail I leave behind. With ever crush of the seeds between my teeth, I bury you further in the ground.
Even when your ghost smiles, I don’t smile back.
This is how I left you.
Distant.
Gone.
