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How is your soul feeling today?
“And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.” —Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince
Alex Winslow was beautiful in a way storms were—only from afar. Just like them, he had the power to sweep and ruin you, two things I was too busy surviving to entertain.
Los Angeles was like a B-Grade prostitute. She let anyone in, looked less than average, and once inside, you realized there was too much traffic and that whoever’d been there before you had left a mess.
“One is the loneliest number. So you said we should be two. But in the end, baby, it was all about you. The worst part is, I’d still take you back. Though this time, I’d be sure to be the one to break your heart.” —“Poison and Poetry,” Alex Winslow.
“If you want me to believe you about not wanting me to fuck you raw, you should probably stop looking at me like that. Like you’re already mine,”
You look at me with dynamite in your eyes, waiting for me to light up the match and finally set you on fire.”
Yesterday I lay with you in a bed of glass We broke together trying to survive your past Still, in your pain I found magic The beauty in something so raw and tragic When life feels banal and ordinary and beat Run to me, my blue-eyed girl, to the place where pleasure and pain meet
Alex Winslow was a two-faced man. One was the cold, asshole devil he gave me now. The one who wanted me to kneel. The other was his playful, relaxed self.
“When I look at you, I see something broken that isn’t worth fixing. And you look at me like I’m a cheap thing to replace the expensive one that’s been stolen from you. See, we’re all vases. And you’re the one scattered on the floor, shattered beyond repair. So I’ll let someone else pick you up. It’s really that simple. Have fun with your temporary glue.”
“Anything essential is invisible to the eye.” My eyes shot up. I’d recognize those words anywhere. “The Little Prince.”
Life is full of secrets, and narrow-minded people, and sugar-coated, empty conversations that hold no weight. What’s real is what’s inside us. What’s important is what we feel.
Can you keep a secret? Sometimes I look at you and all I see is regret My little passion pit is out of this world Dictates my every lyric and note and word I do all the things I want to do to you in the dark But time knows and sees and notices every mark And sometimes I want you But most times I don’t I should leave you alone, but we both know I won’t.
I’m the king with no subjects The vain man with no crowd The drunk twat who’s always so fucking loud And you’re the rivers and mountains Maybe even the oxygen itself You’re the wind that carries me from place to place The only high I always chase
“I apologize in advance.” He cocked his head to the side. “For?” “Ruining you for any other man on this planet. I’m going to fuck you, Indie. So hard you’ll think about me years from now, when you lie under your boring, missionary-loving husband. I will own every orgasm, every shiver, every wave of pleasure inside you. From here on out, it will be me. Just me. And for that, I truly am sorry.”
“What do you want from me, Alex?” Everything. I want everything, and then all the things you’ve already given away to other people. I want them back, too.
You. I was already a goner. By the time you found the rest of me. You sought me out. And left me to deal with the girl I never thought I could be. You. You carved your name into my heart. Gutted it out like I was a dead fish. Held it in your fist. And left me to drown. You. You took my heart and held it in your teeth. Then we kissed. Then we fought. Then we made out. You. You said you loved to see how we burn together. So you took a match. Lit us up. And now we burn forever.
I don’t want your yesterday. And would never expect your tomorrow. But if we can have today, I will show you what love tastes like. And maybe, just maybe, we’ll forget about all our sorrows.
You were right, heart. I’m sorry, heart. Never again. Never again. Never, ever, ever again. Ad infinitum.
Go tell your friends that I’m the one, Other guys have had their run, Your soul is mine, and that’s the end, I don’t even care, that you fucked my whole band.
Once upon a time, a mere mortal fell in love with a rock god. You probably know this is not a fairy tale by now. Mortals and gods don’t mix.
Two souls collide on a too dark floor in a graveyard for the stars Funny, when you walked into my life I thought I’d be the one leaving all the scars There wasn’t one moment when I knew you’d be mine There were pieces of jigsaw, when I looked into your eyes And at midnight, the sky turned blue The night belonged to us, it was just me and you And at midnight, you undressed me from my fears I devoured your tears Seconds became illuminated like years And at midnight, I kissed your skin, your eyes, your lips You shone so dangerously, my own little personal eclipse And at midnight, I broke your
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He swiveled his body to be aligned with mine, staring me down like the predator I longed to be devoured by.
He licked my cheek like a dog. “Mine. Claimed it.” “Yours.” I licked his stubbled jawline, smiling. “Until the very last note.”
We all eventually experience tragedy in our lives—loss of relatives, friends, and things that are important to us—but not all of us are blessed enough to be given great gifts along with our losses. I am. I am that blessed.
That’s the thing about broken princes. Not all of them have to die. If their soul is whole, they sometimes survive. Sometimes, they even grow up to be kings. Mine did.
“Every book has a soul, the soul of the person who wrote it and the soul of those who read it and dream about it” – Carlos Ruiz Zafon, The Angel’s Game.
