Creative Writing

To my deceased lover

Dear lover...

How do I begin this...? I'm not so sure. I mean, I don't even know what this is. A letter? A note? Whatever... It doesn't matter much. Right? It's you, you'd understand...

I know I shouldn't be writing this, but some things eat you up from the insides and this... This is one of them. Literally everyone has been trying to keep me away from a paper and a pen for the fear of what could happen, but I really can't take this anymore. I know I can be a drama queen, but this is different.

I tell you; I feel madness breathe down my neck. Her long nails clawing into my chest as her pretty face smiles down at me. The words of torment she whispers in my ears loop 'round my neck two times over; its rope twined from the very fiber of my broken mind. It chokes every form of sanity and consciousness left of me. Who knew madness is this much of a sadist? It hurts, I'm scared... For the first time in my life I wish I could enjoy pain. Masochism must be convenient.

These days, I never look in the mirror. I never see myself as I used to. I never see myself pretty as you said I was. I clearly remember when you said you liked the way your hands glided smoothly along my skin; soft as a new born's. It was your favorite joke to ask if I bathe in the blood of my enemies. And I'm glad I laughed every time, because now, I can't do that anymore. The mornings you called me "Luna" in the claim that I'm like the moon; reflecting light and brightening your dark desert-like days, were my favorite mornings. But I cannot bring myself to believe it anymore. I guess the light I reflected was yours. Now that you're gone... Well, what can I say?

Would you tell me one thing...? Why did you leave me?

I hear crying eases one's soul and maybe it's true. But that ease, I'm yet to find. I promise, I would cry more but I can't find the tears. They've poured for hours since last night, maybe four...or five. It's only quite fair they decided to betray me now.

And now I lay my throbbing head on the pillow that used to be yours, sniffing every last bit of you I can get. I see the sun rise slowly and I'm faced with the dread of seeing your face smile at me from the picture frame like nothing ever happened. Let me drown my gasps, and madness' sweet voice in deafening music. This deafening music I wish would give me a glimmer of hope. But with every beat I feel my insides knotting. Maybe it's my lungs, rejecting air. 'Cause I can barely breathe and I'm too weak to panic. Maybe I'll pray.

Let me put this plainly. I never knew a human could need another this much. You were my shield, safety, even confidence... You were all the peace I needed and I see that now. But now you're gone and it really is like they say "You never know how much you have until you lose it."

Look, I'm sorry... if I ever hurt you, if I left you when you needed me, if I shut you out when I found myself enclosed in some shell... A shell of seeming self-serenity. Maybe it's too late to say all this... I'll just use thick eyeliner and mascara to conceal my reddened eyes. It works well, doesn't it? Hopefully, sometime in the future I can look back and at least smile at all this. Perhaps even find peace with it.

With unsteady hands, I pour me out only because I'm afraid of what would happen if I don't. But nobody would understand that.... Nobody but you. And it might be selfish, writing this letter, but it's for the sake of my mental health. That's understandable, isn't it?

Sad that you'll never get this, because like the last six I've written, the ink just smells really nice and the paper's really sweet. Yep, pica found out you're gone... and it's back to haunt my ass. I think maybe... maybe I'm too scared to face the possibility that your wandering spirit reads this outburst. I honestly wouldn't want to bother you. Well, not to worry... Here's my final goodbye.

Yours sincerely,

Your xylophagic lover.

Writer's Note

Here's a brief clarification on a couple of terms mentioned...

Pica: An unusual craving for, and ingestion of edible and inedible substances.

Xylophagia: A form of the eating disorder; Pica, which involves the consumption of paper.

Luna: Spanish for "Moon"

Please note that this piece is completely fictional, but still...

You might wanna read that again. :D