letters to a dead girl

these are a few of my favorite things

dear horcrux experiment number 4,

i've always been interested in numbers— my favorite being 7. 7 souls, 7 broken hearts, 7 sins. it's always been my lucky number (i suppose just not yours).

7 is a beautiful number, but there was a time when 4 was ethereal.

4 seasons, each to match the way you lie still like a dead flower plucked from the ground. winter for the coldness of your skin, spring for the blooming of your image in my head, summer for a stifling warmth, and fall.

fall for the way you'd have always died in the end.

much like 7, fall has always been a favorite of mine. a break from an overbearing warmth and the welcoming crisp air of a quiet time. it's only fitting that's when you'd die.

she was the last breeze of autumn air before my lungs filled with sharp icicles, and her warmth is irreplaceable. irreplaceable and stifling and without it i find i can't breathe any better than with it. my lungs are hurting with the frostbite surrounding them, but it never hurt my heart this bad.

i think they've moved to my brain.

i've always loved the cold. found it pleasantly numbing to my core and the world around me. you never did though (is your coffin getting warm yet?). i suppose that's why you enjoyed wine so much, it kept your body warm and your heart always beating to a tediously quick beat. i never liked it, keeping me much too hot and flushed and everything was too much.

you don't drink wine anymore and i drink too much.

i̶t̶ n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ r̶e̶p̶l̶a̶c̶e̶s̶ t̶h̶e̶ f̶e̶e̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ o̶f̶ y̶o̶u̶.

i say this all to say, happy fall.

o̶r̶ a̶s̶ h̶a̶p̶p̶y̶ a̶s̶ i̶t̶ c̶a̶n̶ b̶e̶ w̶i̶t̶h̶o̶u̶t̶ y̶o̶u̶.

your "jack frost"
-tom riddle