Broken strings & Pretty things

The world, seen through a young girl's eyes.

Archive for the month “February, 2014”

Poison.

Stay away. Far away.

Close your doors. Cover your eyes. Hide your heart.

She’s dangerous.

She’ll lure you in with her angelic disposition and set up camp in your heart. She’ll diffuse her sweet fragrance into your bloodstream, flooding your mind; your heart; your hopes; your dreams. She’ll make you feel wanted. She’ll make you feel safe. She’ll make you fall in love like you have with no other, and she’ll make you believe. She’ll make you wait.

But perfection is a flaw and hope is helpless because she’ll drown you in her presence. She’ll leave you gasping for air and wishing you stayed on the side. Her heart is skittish and wild and afraid and you’ll spend hours trying to tame something which cannot be chased. She’ll confuse you; make you think that she feels the same and then disappear in a manic flurry. She will tell you she needs you; cry for you and wait for you. You’ll trust her with everything. And she will trust you too.

And she will break you. She’ll dissolve away everything but hardness. True to her nature she’ll flee and cry and miss you, and yet she will just keep running. She’ll move miles away and claim that she needs you with her. Her sweet poison will clog your veins and she will leave you with nothing but bitterness and numbing pain. And she will tell you that she’s sorry. And she will tell you that she needs you, but she is just too scared. She says she understands if you hate her, because she hates herself too. She says she knows you want nothing less than to see her, yet little does she know that’s everything that you’ve ever wanted. But you can’t. Because if losing her means saving your own soul then sometimes there is no choice.

Forget her. Forget her voice. Forget the long nights where you stayed up watching movies and spoke about your wildest ambitions. Forget the way that she would say your name. Forget all of the little adventures she planned for you. Forget that birthday present. Forget her relationship with your family. Forget how she fitted in so well. Forget that little black dress. Forget her smile. Forget her eyes. Only remember that she hurt you. Only remember that she just didn’t have it in her to stay. Remember she’s a coward and a liar and your best friend and your everything and that she would have stayed if she really loved you.

Because I’ll ruin you. I’ll watch your eyes turn grey and I’ll watch the life drain from your face. Your blood will stain my hands and I will just stand there and watch. Because I’m a coward and selfish and careless and reckless and I love and lose and pretend that it will all be okay in the end. Don’t speak to me. Don’t even grant me a hello. Because I’ll break you and cry over the pieces. I’ll make you wish that you never met me.

And I’ll miss you every second of every day.
And I’m so, so sorry.

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London.

You’re just another speck in the velvet skyline;
another blurred streak on a tube train.
And it’s refreshing,
because you can no longer pretend your life
is the centre of humanity;
you’re just another body
passing through a river flooded with history.
You’re forgettable, insignificant
and inexplicably ordinary.
And that’s wonderful.
It’s humbling, yet equally empowering:
Only you yourself
can shape and shine your own destiny.

An egocentric insomniac,
she never sleeps,
only shines.
She shouts her name,
stains your windows
slams your doors
with her presence.
She’s helplessly lonely,
yet constantly the centre of the crowd.
Rain or shine,
dusk or day
she’s there, gleaming as brightly
as the days, weeks, centuries before.

She’s the centre of the world,
and a red dot flicked away in the corner of an atlas.
She’s aged and grey
and yet forever young.
She’s cold and callous,
she’s bitter and crude.
But she’s warm. She’s inviting
and she’s everything you’d hope she would be.

She’s home.

Enough.

It was the smallest moment — a blip in the casual composure we had carefully weaved — but I knew. I knew I wanted to watch that moment ripple out endlessly…

And now, while writing this, I know. Even when you’re seventy miles away and I’m constantly counting the sunsets until I see you again, I know. I know what it feels like to miss you like a phantom limb, to ache for the melody of your voice, to crave your touch like an addict. I know every time I round my lips around your name; every time your hands find a haven in mine; every time my eyes go soft just looking at you.

Now, because I finally understand that falling means trusting someone enough to catch you.

-Carolyn Quimby

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