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April 4 - April 9, 2024
“You know how to cut me open.” He lifted his chin, eyes settling upon me. “It may not be with a knife, but you carve your initials inside me one way or the other, I see. It’s a miracle anything survives you.”
“Everyone dies, some more than once, but the true tragedy, I believe, is life being wasted on the afraid. People abuse time too often. Today, my darling, we are alive.”
This was her curse. No matter how fierce she was, she still allowed someone to take pleasure in making her believe otherwise. But no matter her trauma, she still found the good in living and believed in love. And this was her magic.
“We can survive a lifetime without love, as long as it doesn’t touch us.” “Seems like an impossible task. What happens if it does?” A beautiful smile ripped across his face. “Then, my darling, we become mad fools.”
“What if I told you that centuries were supposed to separate us, that time was designed to stand in our way? What if I told you that every second together is measured by the impossible because the chance of you and me was never supposed to happen?”
lashes. “We were never supposed to happen, but here we are, nevertheless, at the hands of the unknown, against all odds, my darling siren. Because I believe something more rebellious had other plans for us.” His lips brushed the shell of my ear. A whisper. A secret. “Perhaps the stars themselves.”
“He loved her, with no end and no beginning, with no birth or expiration. He loved, eternally, and it broke him.”
He brings out the woman I was always supposed to be. He makes me soft and gentle. He makes me feel loved.
Ball. “He was hurt. I was hurt. It hurts. But that’s how it’s been with us. We rip each other apart as punishment for feeling things because it’s easier than facing them. Or we punish each other for feeling things because it’s ripping us apart. And it hurts.”
My soul grazed his, and time became a useless thing. A contradiction. The way it expired. The way it was forgotten. The way it carried on.
A great story has a last page. Nothing can stop it. The sun sets, people die, you read the final chapter, you say goodbye. You move on. But, if loud enough, if felt deeply enough, if this moment or person was so significant and changed your life, they became a part of you. You feel them floating on a melody, sewn into a breeze, laced in a scent, or brought to life by words on a page. No one needs magic to remember them or feel them. They’ve already imprinted themselves. The nostalgic stamps that keep us grounded. Our lighthouse beams to keep us moving forward.
