It only took one particularly cold morning
To realize how much she really missed him.
A draw of frosty regard woke her abruptly
From pleasant dreams of grandeur.
She's feeling old and tired, despair in every movement.
She wants to think it's over
But is it really?
Because in war, feelings and actions are seldom one's own anymore.
It appeared as if there was nothing left but him.
Everything that he aimed to be, and truly was.
A collection of vignettes, spotlight on his feelings for her.
A burning sensation, aggression, obsession.
She was Beautiful, shockingly beautiful.
And so sorrowful. The curve of her arms
The way her eyes glazed over.
The way her lips remained immobile until that first cry.
Oh, the beauty so great, it was sinful
Watching her pass through like tumble weeds.
He chokes back a gasp at the view
For there in the soft velvet curtain in which she hid
His reflection stared back in awe and confusion.
His own ugly perception of self worth coming forth.
She had written secrets she kept in her room.
The ink old and faded, the messages worn and washed out,
Discolored and dull.
Much like the life they both lived.
He never hated her. Never.
Just hated her free will
Her innate ability to captivate the world with eyes opalescent
The same way she captivated him.
The feeling sinking,crawling up his skin.
He tried to hold onto it like he'd never feel it again.
But she seems so far away now.
Stricken in grief from the chilling words he spoke.
It was supposed to be this way, he rationalizes.
Nothing good comes from two selfish people staying together.
There was no future for such intolerable frames of mind.
They had set the wheels in motion
And now they are hurtling towards the end at neck-breaking speed.
How did it begin?
With a taste of simplicities wine and hunger for absolution.
How will it end?
Extravagantly, like two missiles butting heads
Making chaos in it's wake
Muting out shrieks of pains and loss.
Leaving nothing but ashes