Pure wasn't a word used for you and me.
I was stained black, the curse of a sinner, and it controlled me. It lifted my limbs –limp because I had no will left to control myself with – and ordered me around; I was no more than a marionette. I was a marionette with a heart that had long since died; with no other purpose than to beat and give me the semblance of humanity.
And you, you were beautiful. You had the world dancing along the tips of your fingers, enraptured with your smile from heaven and classic good looks. Yet, you could look into your eyes and see the red – the red of contempt, showing off your want to wrap your sculpted fingers around the throats of the lesser humans, give into your true, devilish nature.
We met in a storm – an angry hurricane where the wind ripped at our skin (toughened from the experiences that soiled us) and laughed as we dove into a rundown diner to escape its torrid grasp. You looked into my eyes and you knew me for what I was; un-pure, graceless, a demon in my own right. I wasn't afraid of you knowing; I saw who you were. It was the first time we had been understood by another human being and we were caught up in the sick thrill of it.
As the tainted perfect beings that we were, we wrapped our minds together. As much as the world had been in your hands before, the universe was in our grasp. If we curled our hands, the slightest bit too tight, the earth would crumble in our hands. We rose high, the world bowing at our worthy feet. We rose to the mountain tops, heads reaching the sky, and we could go further yet.
… we weren't meant to live among the stars.
©The Last Letter