ALangford

United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland

semi on hiatus because i have decided i am no writer

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falling-out-of-love letters: a year of extracts

July 18, 2018

FREE WRITING

9
---
two years of sorrow
made light
like gossamer 
in the crescent  
of your eyes
and lips
---
i'm in a dream - i must be;
your footsteps sound
where my mind made strange
fantasies of your
presence, the
tender tilt of
your white cheeks
---
falling in and out of love
are the same to me:
laughter is the closest thing
to tears.
if ever we'd have
touched, i'd have been
disgusted by you
after. 
---
walking home
there are only those
thirteen-year-old
recycled
inchoate
words
'stupid happy'
to grasp me in their arms
as i crumple
and become, again,
two
---
what's pen and paper to
the vivid sensuality
of your lips?
i told myself i'd never 
write again.
degradation:
a feeling of repulsion from
something so simple as
picking up a pen
---
spoke to you then
walked home
in the hallway i wept
like a child
until my body was empty
and barren of hope
for you
---
you only come to me at night;
a night without imagining your arms
becomes a night of terrors,
blind faith my only lullaby
---
and it could have been that we were passionate, if not for your insatiable appetite for triviality, if you hadn't been frank wheeler and i hadn't known i'd too easily become your april. all it would have taken was a snap of your fingers and i'd have retired from life into mediocre quiet: the wedding ring and a lifetime of spilt milk. 
---
last night was all disquiet
the fabric of your face
in nightmarish visions 
of lost innocence
seventeen years of anarchy,
seventeen years of strength
and still she parades onolatry
as faith

---
i'm sick of forgiving you for things you never asked to be forgiven for, for believing the lies you never told me. in the end it came down to me. you'll be forever imperfect; i, forever restless.
--
easy to love you when i'm sleeping
because the darkness never asked 
for honesty. 
---
i never really wrote you love letters. i wrote diary entries, poems, play extracts - my art was built from you, but it's telling that I never tried to express it in any format which is essentially honest. perhaps I always knew that the act of falling in love, as the act of falling out of love, was about me. you hardly came into it. you were a vessel. from the minute I felt my feelings waning, though, I wanted more than anything to be honest. 
---
what hurts the most is knowing that despite the fact that i do not love you, despite the fact i can feel repelled by you or pity you or condemn you, despite the acquisition of some mastery over my feelings towards you, it's still your arms i wish to be folded between as they hit me, waves of panic and fear and sickness, a terrible assault of loss and sorrow and infantility. not loving you is harder than loving you could ever have been. at night i still think about you and wish the thought itself could warm me through like it used to. 
---
the breeze makes play
at the tips of your blond
hair as the conversation
thins to silence with a smile.
i'm the one who first walks away,
leaving your voice, at last,
behind me.
---
these are literally the most depressing extracts from random nonsense i wrote throughout the year but i'm in one of those moods 
there were also some happy moments lol i promise

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1 Comment
  • inspiremaks14

    I wrote something about heartbreak recently (It's called He Loves Me Not if you want to check it out.) but i feel that it is so so weak in comparison to this. I feel like such a noob in the presence of a great legend. You are awesome!


    12 months ago