I remember her well, like one remembers the death of a friend. Something you never forget and something that forever remains. And though we were destined to die, as does the ash from a burning pipe.
I still taste her, feel her as if she is the wind and the savory smoke of a cigar. She's last nights Bourbon, shes the morning dew, the frozen ice that hangs, waiting to melt; waiting to fall. But there are no hands, no hearts that can catch her.
For she is too cold, frigid like the Arctic plains. She will flow to you like a severed glacier. And in her lonely state she shall find you upon a sandy shore, just as she found me. And like distant stars she will shine, glimmering with a call for love.
She will reach out with a soft whisper as her rosy cheeks grip you with lust. And you, the lonely fool upon a sandy shore in midwinter. Will reach out with a hand, quivering to the brisk air and you shall risk the bite of raw ocean tears.
Neglecting the blackening of your heart as you swim in the deepest of seas. For you are blind by her beauty, her allure of grace. Her eyes gleaming like the moon. Ah! Those eyes, how beautifully they sang to me. Like sirens in the coves of dead men.
How blissfully I swam to her. My body warming to her presence but my heart cooling to her breath. She was elegant, as elegant as swans upon still waters. As regal as an ivory tiger among falling snow.
She was the kiss I needed, the love I yearned for, but the hell I never saw coming. Our nights often drove with laughter, our hands weaved with love or, so I thought. I remember the eve of a very endearing night.
I had purchased a bottle of champagne from the local shop. Nothing fancy, for my pockets were shallow as had been hers. But how grateful she made me feel, how elated she made me. And as the moon beamed its silk light.
I took to her home by foot beneath an October evening. My breath so delicately waltzed as my heart beat with jubilation. For it was our night, the anniversary from which I rescued her from the depths of a freezing ocean.
I pulled her to shore and held her in my arms and kissed her. How marvelous that first kiss, like the first taste of vanilla. Her sweet lips composed against mine forged a stunning spectacle of stimulating wonder.
I felt our souls burst like a fruit in the grasp of teeth. I felt myself pour upon her with such riveting emotion, such affection. But what a fool I was, to feel as if that kiss was the opening to our desires. But it was only a fatal kiss, a poison upon my lips.
A wound had been lacerated upon my heart like the bite of snake. But like the venom of many creatures, it was slow to take. And so I lost myself to her every step. Walking blind with groveling submission.
But alas, that endearing night how quickly it spun to chaos. Like the burning of Icarus I flew too close. For upon my short travel to her home, champagne chilled between my hand. She sat alone, crying to midnight clouds.
I rushed with eager sympathy and I poured us two glasses of champagne. Her eyes, watered from sadness and I, standing with a shivering heart for her pain. I looked to her and she to I and with a velvet tone I asked her of her pain.
But before she spoke I felt it, I felt the history of us begin to tear as if time itself ripped us apart. My ears shut, my eyes looked to her pink lips as she spoke and the words fell from her mouth like blight from a devils gut.
I watched as her cigarette withered her flesh with each inhalation of toxin. I watched as her tongue split like a serpents and her eyes formed to voids. And with a single sentence, our love, our affection, or what ever it had been, was null.
Stricken from our pages like an unworthy chapter, like a scribbled note lost to the forgetfulness of a poet. And there, in my hand was the bottle of champagne and before she could finish her undesired words.
I drowned my gut in the last of it. I drank the bottle till nothing remained. And with a numbness of my chest, I released the bottle from my grasp allowing it to shatter at my feet. She stood with rage but I understood and so I took up my heart, held it in my hands an made my way into the October night.
And as I walked, a tear fell from me, a single tear and from that I imitated her words with a sorrowed voice,
"I don't love you any more, I never did, you were there and alone, just like I...I'm sorry."
And as those words scrapped my throat I felt sorry for the next fool who will be standing on an empty shore on a midwinter night.
Not all live will be and not all people will last in love. But some of the best love will be the broken love and some of the worst love will be the lasting love.
But we mustn't allow ourselves the lasting sorrow of broken heart.
What is story of a broken love you have yet to let go of?
Our hearts run deeper than we would like to admit, A Man's Traveled Heart you'll find more thought striking stories.
Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words
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