literature

Beautifully Dying in Her Arms

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FaberrittanaCaskett's avatar
Published:
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Literature Text

This is the story of how our love crashed and
burned in the most non-cliche, cliche there ever
was. We never knew where to sit at lunch except
maybe anywhere but the lunchroom. She never
questioned my need to pick at the endless supply
of wasted creativity plastered to the art tables, I
appreciated her silent stare. We both have an
alarming attraction to crushed ice, I watch with
bated breath as she lets it dance on her lips before
devouring it between her teeth; she doesn't think
I notice, but I always catch the amusement in her
eyes when I test liquid color pallets against its roughness.

I often wonder if it reminds her too of the way we
tested ourselves in each others arms. I'm sorry that
my skin bursts at the seems when she holds me, I
hate the tears in her eyes when her frantic hands sew
it back together as I watch on helplessly. Her porcelain
presented skin cuts like barbed wire when I caress her,
unlike all the others, I embrace the pain. At this point most
would ask: How lost would I be without her But I pose a
different question: How would she thrive without me?

She needs my imperfect writing, smothered in cliches,
I know she enjoys breaking them down. She lets me
show her hand the tango of fluidity when the ink bound
in her sketches wants to run right off the page. Then
again, how would I thrive without her? There will always
be the taste of regret on her lips, and the uncertainty
within me wondering if it is I who has scorned her. There
will always be something for us to destroy within each
other, that's what makes our love perfectly imperfect. 
100 Theme Challenge #2 - Love 
© 2014 - 2024 FaberrittanaCaskett
Comments4
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c-a-d-e-n's avatar
It needs more work to it...most of it doesn't make sense to me.
The concept itself is okay, not too original or anything.

Good job though.