Silly Girl

There’s a knife in my heart.

[mournfulroses]

George Sand, from a translated letter to Alfred de Musset, featured in «Ô mon George, ma belle maîtresse...»: Lettres

[threespringspoet]

The blueprint, words by: @threespringspoet

[literaryvein]

L. V., exhumed writings

[fallenpetalcrest]

To My “Germany”,

You don’t know this, but I’m finally done. You won’t care, I know. I know you so well, because you are me in every way that I am terrible and cruel and uninterested.

I wanted your love so bad, was so desperate for it. I think you being emotionally unavailable only served for me to want you more.

“If I can get him to love me back, it means I’m worth something. If I can have his attention, I can distract myself from the terror in my head.”

And you are so far away, but I’d have gone the distance for you. I’d have given this life up and made a new one with you. From Georgia to North Carolina.

Silly thoughts from a silly girl who just wanted an escape. Just wanted love.

I really have to thank you, too. I learned a lot about myself and the way I treat people through you. So many realizations.

I want to do better, now. I want to be better, to feel better. To choose better for myself, and for that I have to be done with you.

It’s funny how learning about someone else’s “Germany” made me realize how terrible mine was for me. Watching him make what I feel to be such a foolish mistake? It was like looking in a mirror.

So. I’m saying goodbye to you in every form that I know you.

Goodbye “Germany”. Dalen. Elsa. Gale. Me.

[fallenpetalcrest]

I remember when you worried that I was a vengeful woman.

I’m not, I’m really not, you know. Anger does not come easily to me, though sadness does. My sadness is a sorrowful thing.

I reserve the terrible wailing for myself. There is no one I’m more angry with than myself. No one I hate more. Maybe that’s why I just don’t have room for hating anyone else.

What I feel for you is not hatred, and was never love. I think I saw an understanding in you. Common ground that I’d never seen before. Something bright breaking through dark clouds. Something that resembled myself.

I hope you saw that same something in me, too. Regardless of how it ended.

[fallenpetalcrest]

“Hey… how’d you get ahold of that knife?”

[fallenpetalcrest]

We are the same.

How long will you and I continue on these unfulfilling paths? I’m ready to step off, even if you’re not. And I truly hope you find your way, in the end.

[fallenpetalcrest]

Are you possibly not foolish, and just a liar instead?

[fallenpetalcrest]

I can cry here and wail here and complain here. In this place I am safe from what you’d think of me.

Sometimes it crosses my mind, if you happened upon me here- would you recognize me?

“Her sorrow is so familiar.”

[fallenpetalcrest]

In truth, I know I’ll be okay.

I’ve been pulled under deeper, crueler water than the end of something simple like this.

I’ve been clawed and torn and shredded.

Pressed down until there was so little of me left that I almost stayed.

It does hurt to see you go, and I do hope you return- but it is some solace to me that I will be okay.

[fallenpetalcrest]

A part of me feels like you made me into you

You hurt me, the way you were hurt

Or maybe you didn’t even mean to, it just happened.

[fallenpetalcrest]

Now when I pull the High Priestess, I have to wonder: “Am I supposed to follow my intuition, or is this about him?”

I hope you feel the same whenever you pull the Star.

[inkpressedpetals]

[irisili0]

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be loved the way I love—the way I obsess, the way I care, the way I look at them, the way I wonder, the way I almost worship.

[fallenpetalcrest]

I miss you. I miss talking to you.

Why am I so easy to leave behind?? Why doesn’t anyone miss me?

[fallenpetalcrest]

Foolish man.

[fallenpetalcrest]

Here, in my hand, is a knife. The blade is silver. The hilt is made of my own bone, encrusted with moonstones, opals, and rubies.

All pieces of me are tied to this knife. It is the only thing that could kill me.

Often, I give this knife away. Or it leaves on its own accord. Into the hands of the ones. I give this knife to them and say,

“Here, I’m giving you the tool to kill me, if you wished. Please don’t use it. Please show me I’m worth something to you.”

Each time, the knife ends up plunged into my heart, on purpose- on accident.

Each time this knife leaves my hand and returns, I lose a part of myself that I think I’ll never get back.

Sometimes I think I must be cursed.