M

[thebibliophile210]

Break my broken heart, and watch as it mends itself painstakingly. Watch it rise from the debris like a phoenix, but barely half as glorious. Stay and witness the way it never learns the lesson and comes just as stupidly trustful

[thebibliophile210]

The final stage of grief was sitting awake at midnight, wondering why the tears never came.

[thebibliophile210]

And if I had the heart for chasing, I would meet you at the edge of this world and give you my affection like it was meant to be.

But I'm tired too, of asking you to slow down for me.

[thebibliophile210]

And as the Poets might say; The Moth loves an open flame until it's wings are burnt away

[thebibliophile210]

Isn't it tragic how humans write about distant things, the stars, the moon, God.

There's a lesson in that, I haven't quite learnt it yet

[thebibliophile210]

I'm just a little bit envious of the sun, the way it shines unapologetically, brilliantly, without a care. How it was meant to be blinding, not for the careless gaze of humans.

Or maybe I just want to burn everything that stands in my way like it does

[thebibliophile210]

Hey, don't listen to people- okay?

They'll try to dim your light, to adjust you to this dull, colourless world. Don't let yourself be reduced to an object for their convenience.

You're the Sun, so shine like it. Brilliant, unapologetically blinding, warm yet burning what stands in its ways.

[thebibliophile210]

Thousands of poets yet no one really does it quite like hozeir.

He writes of his love like they're prayers to a deity. Heaven and hell reduced to just words like the only thing he could ever crave is the soul of the one he loves

[thebibliophile210]

Summer has dug her nails in my flesh. She's sinking her teeth in my bones, like she wants me to burn.

The memories of a season that once felt joyous drag me down, into misery and deeper still. Yet somehow the pain in my head that I'm living with feels nothing compared to how my heart aches

[thebibliophile210]

I'm a writer, I lie sometimes but my pen can't. I could say that this night is less beautiful due to your absence but I can't write it. Because the pen in my hand doesn't give me the right to diminish the allure of starlight or call the moon hideous.

Because life doesn't dim itself for people that left