lux aeterna

That you should have been the one to have shown me this. To have introduced me to this book, to have talked so endlessly and highly of it. More like, painfully ironic.

The slow, cruel burst of wrenching, agonizing anger that I felt raise towards you is the strongest emotion I have felt in a long time.

Funny how you have always been the one to make me feel most alive.

Yet so deeply scarred am I that I cannot even reckon with the source of that anger, which rose from the depths of my heart (which has been unresponsive for quite some time) and would not relent. I am left shaking with jars of aftershock and a brittle ache that seems to enjoy its stay, as if my heart were some warm hearth instead of a cold, chipped lake. 

And so you call to me. My love of past, ringing out and once more alive, if only inside my head. The old flame rekindles from a dwindling smoke, and I remember your love through the words of this book and the captive you, unchanging in the cage that is my mind and whispering tenderly as I suffer softly. I keep you, like a blue-eyed canary stuffed safely inside the bars of a lion’s cage. I can suffocate you all I wish, but I can never break you. Too delicate to snap. Too frail to abandon.

But the second door has a mind of its own.  Your memories cannot be healed. What healing is there for a love so strong, it could shatter knives, kill sentience, forge bridges of diamond? What words are there for the brutality of time, the betrayal of your mind?

What can I say. After all this time, crushing your name and incinerating your lies, you still have me. My hidden heart, numb yet somehow still weeping, pitifully and hopelessly. What anger rose like waves. What red rage I saw. All in your name. Please. let me go.