letters to a dead girl

cherry wine

dear horcrux experiment number 4,

one thing about you that's never left my memory is your love for sweet wine. i can already hear you arguing that nothing about you has left my memory ( maybe this is yet another mistake on my part). cherry wine was your favorite, and i remember because i have aged bottles littering my room (out of fondness or spite i'm not quite sure)

it's definitely spite.

spite.
spite.
spite.

red stained wine to match the blood on my hands and shirt (don't worry darling i must've spilled some). red stained lips and skin that soon won't be from drunken kisses. evidence of my misperceived a̶d̶o̶r̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ possessiveness. red stained skin and it was once cherry sweet— now just metallic and bitter as what we once had. we could have it again.

achingly sweet and you make my head and teeth ache and my gums are rotting, rotting, rotting ( just like you). HA the irony

your blood is sweet and filled with remnants of an old toxin left to sit— old wine was good wine. sitting and settling and merging and i can't tell the difference between blood and wine because they looked the same on your skin and mine.

did i mention how many times i had to rewrite this without the wine stains? if only you were here to share a glass. my most sincere apologies.

it drips and drips and drips and stains my hands in a red that's visible( not like the reds of you or 1,2, and 3) . layers of red on my skin and your touch sealed it up like the seals encasing the many, many bottles.

maybe the next number will want to drink with me?

love and anger are both seen in the color red, and they seemed to blend in our time together. strange how one of those things killed you and the other possessed you after. you've always been the drop of blood in my wine, a bottle of sin yet it could never match you.

your wine enthusiast,
tom riddle