Broken strings & Pretty things

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

Archive for the month “May, 2015”

Fire.

Deep in midnight, we set these walls ablaze
We hurled daggers from our mouths
Breathed fire from our lungs
We mercilessly broke each other down until nothing was left
Our silent screams echoed for no one to hear
And we fell deeply, darkly into a restless slumber

But as the light of morning cradled your every edge
We awoke fragilely in a silver embrace
Chains were broken; freedmen were made
Wounds were cleaned; burns were healed
Curves dominated faces
We were free and everything had returned.

(image via tumblr)

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Untitled.

And she loved him. She loved him with every closing of those familiar sliding doors, every glide of cigarette smoke, every last chime of wine-stained laughter. And she missed him, waking with that dull ache of reality as morning crept across her body. His smell had long left her room, but his mark was still scorched on her skin, in a place that could never quite heal.

But time had passed and drastic decisions had long been fixed in their ways. He would never love her. His passion began and ended on those cold January days, whilst she carried on burning. She made sure the flame lay low, deep inside where no one would discover the burning ash inside of her lungs. So she filled her days with empty conversations and tried to put people in gaps that just didn’t fit. She tried to forget him, she honestly did. He was tirelessly flawed and tarnished and painful, but he had a grip on her that her fingers just couldn’t undo. He was a masterpiece of broken glass; a summer’s day without any shade. And without knowing, she would always hope for dark eyes in the countless puddles of blue.

She continued burning away, putting away everything they had once shared at the back of her wardrobe. That is where her monsters would live. And she slowly accepted that she would forever be but a snowflake in his great avalanche; an exhale of smoke in his grand ballroom.

(image via tumblr)

Empty bed syndrome.

She lay there awake at night, wishing she was somewhere else. Kisses were her company and hugs were her home. Her blankets were a limp arm and her lungs only worked if the air passed through other lips.

She was trapped in a place where even friends couldn’t fill the void: she no longer craved love. The only thing that kept her bones warm at night was the heat of a naked body pressed against her. She missed him. She still found his outline next to her at night. She pressed herself around his skinny waist and she kissed his nose and curled her eyelashes around his cheeks, only to realise that this was another body. This one wouldn’t hold her tightly in the final moment; this one wouldn’t chase the night away with silent whispers. He may be soft and gentle, but, to her, he was just a familiar shell of a long-missed body.

She realised that she couldn’t sleep with that empty cupboard next to her, because she could never have empty spaces in her life: everything had to have its place; everything had to be filled. And for this reason, she could never be alone. Empty air was constricting; open spaces were suffocating.

So she rolled over, wishing that he could fill that void, wishing that he would come back to bed and fill this ghostly space between them.

(image via tumblr)

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