I think it was his smile that drew me to him at first. It was… sweet, a little sheepish… I saw his smile and it reminded me of you, of us and I wonder if my vision will always be tainted with these memories, stained with memories of cigarette smoke and coffee and your smile – bright, bright, brilliant in the sunset and-
I don't know if he reminds me of you, precisely
It is difficult to not be reminded of you, sometimes, when you are all that occupies my thoughts; when you were the one to make me feel; when you drew emotions from me like notes from a violin. Your bow danced over the strings and we were music, we were a symphony, we were beautiful-
we will never be the same again.
The shards of your glass still embed themselves within me, fracturing the silence with the sound of harsh breathing and shaking shoulders as you cried and I died and we burned each other to dust in a bid to find ourselves again.
It is the fear that I will ruin this. That I am destined for destruction, that all things break and snap and shatter in my hands. That like us, he and I will burn to nothing.
Your smile superimposes itself on his brilliance, a lingering shadow that refuses to remove its taint, though I try and try to abrade to erase to burn it away
but I cannot
And perhaps this is my penance for
your light into darkness
Even though you took my voice;
Even though you silenced my voice;
Even though you burned the heart out of me.
In the absence of you, it is cold, and I remember a warmth. The familiar warmth of an embrace, of velvet lips brushing against my cheek- a warmth that drew me irresistibly closer to the hypnotic flames that burned even as they warmed me, setting me ablaze in a fire that burned us to ashes.
It is the fear that his warmth is the same fire.
That the music our voices forge is brittle, an illusion to be broken with the snapping of strings.
The flame- I wish we could reignite.
But we can't.
Your smile superimposes itself over his, and it is a reminder that I cannot let us
To ashes and extinguished moths
His smile brings me clarity in the haze that is the memory of your light and our happiness-
and he makes me happy, enough,
to risk bring being unhappy.
Enough, to risk burning,
Burning to dust.
Constructive criticism is welcome, as always.