How does a monster become a monster? It starts with love, always love, and they ate it in greedy handfuls, back when they were whole and beautiful and the light waltzed on their skin like stars. It starts with sin, always sin, like fingerprints on the spine, like a devouring, like singing while Eden floods, like singing with fists in their mouths. Before a monster is a monster, it is swollen with love, it presses sin flush against the wall, it pretends that it knows what to do with its hands. And then the love vanishes, it is plucked right out of their mouths, and the monster is desolate, and the monster is withering, and all that is left is sin and a gaping hole where the heart should be, overgrown and abandoned, stars spilling out.
Emily Palermo, And Maybe I Haven’t Been Kissed in a Long Time (via starredsoul)
