a study in love — part 4

I think that I am going mad. There is no way for me to be fully certain, but I know my mind and moods, and I am going mad. I am mad with love, and grief and longing, but most of all I am mad with anger, because you could not save me. They have me doped up on pills, words with more consonants than vowels, words I cannot pronounce, in a long dead language. I am going mad with the absence of you, and still they pump me. You cannot love something broken, and you cannot unbreak something loved.

Week 10: and I feel fine

The end of the world was not quite we had been expecting. Of course, we knew that the Rapture would happen. That the good souls of our church would be lifted to Heaven to be with the Lord. That we would be rewarded for all our prayers. And those heathens, those men with long hair, those women in short skirts, those abominations who were neither man nor woman, or who lived in sin, all those bastard children, those who cavorted with members of their sex, the adulterers and liars, those would all be left behind to weep rivers of tears for their sins. They would not bask in the Light, the would not sing hymns of praise to our Lord, they were wrong and devils and to Satan they would go.

a study in love — part 3

It was a long time before I ever spoke to him again. Time seemed to be condensed into waking hours, when the movement of the sun is really no indication of whether you can still feel alive or not. When he came back to me, it was not as himself, but as some other. I knew him, though. How can you not, after years of longing and love? I knew him for who he truly was and no disguise could hide him from me. He was my saviour and I was ready for him. I had so dearly missed my father.

a study in love — part 2

We judge what we cannot understand. The world is vast and complex, irrational and wild, above all, dangerous. Our mind cannot comprehend the truth, so we build fortresses of lies and deceit, because the greatest achievement one can have in life is carving a piece of the universe. Making it real. So tell me, my dearest, my sweetest, when did you start lying? Did your eyes betray you first, or was it your mouth? Did we kiss because chemistry dictated it? Did you tell me a lie because it was easier? Did you ever, in our brief existence,  love me?

a study in love — part 1

Why do I measure sorrow in the time elapsed since I last drank? Why do I count every second I am sober, as if it could tell the world I am a functioning human being? Why do I call myself a coward and a fool when that is just an elaborate lie to push back the next whisky shot? I was told never to lie. Lies hurt. Lies never last. Lies make you believe in the impossible. I want to measure my time left on this earth by the demons I slaughter. And I call you by your name, demon: love.