"Perhaps this is what the stories meant when they called somebody heartsick. Your heart and your stomach and your whole insides feel empty and hollow and aching." ~ Gabriel Garcia Marquez
At night I sometimes venture,
back to the places of our past.
I walk through our park,
filled with a forest,
that appears to belong to a fairytale.
One I haven't yet read.
Do you remember?
Do you remember Logan.
What you used to call me.
Your little wood nymph.
A forest dryad.
Owing to my obsession with the woods and what lingered in them,
beyond the call of day.
But this time,
this time everythings changed.
Your here.
And you brought her.
Why?
The only thought my mind appears to
be capable of conjuring presently.
Questioning your motives,
that I do.
Why are you doing this to me.
This is my neverland,
my world away from reality.
And now its been poisioned,
by this wicked disease.
The one they call love.
It's like a weed,
growing where it isn't wanted.
Filling my ribcage with flowers of all
seasons,
that die as quickly as they grow.
A neverending cycle.
I love you.
I can't imagine a day that I won't.
But I know I'm no good for you.
It's because I love you,
that I let you go,
made no fuss.
That's whats killing me.
Drowning me.
And taking its sweet fucking time.
It couldn't come quicker if it tried.
The end I mean.
But then I remember,
weeds don't drown.
Not exactly.
They die,
but then they're reborn from the ashes,
after a time.
They grow stronger beneath the
torrents of water.
And stand taller then ever before.
Strangling my lungs in their deceptive beauty.
Captivating attention with the coloured
YOU ARE READING
a tragedy of some kind
General FictionP.S. I wish I never loved you. Oh how I wish -Delilah He burned like the sun, blazing from the tips of her fingers to her toes. He was like a weed that entangled her obtruding ribcage, intertwining her lungs, drawing out every ounce of breathe. She...
