6 May 2012
I heard the words, the tribulation of her words. Scared, I made her crawl onto my skin, and unbearable was this, that the dream became like a hypnotist and began yelling as if, I, aye, I, were the one that would press. Press the unimaginable, Press the incomprehensible, Press the damned. The damned into her as if SHE WAS THE CAUSE OF ALL OF THIS!
and she was.
of this, this, love. The beauty, her beauty that would reflect off the droplets on her skin, after every tear, after every hymn. When she'd hear God's call, and tell me every Sunday, we're a sin. Our loves a sin. And I'd say, "Damn you woman, cant you see I'm in love!?" and she'd reply, "Damned is our love, not I, if I had the choice to identify, and not be humillified, then I'd do it in a heart beat." so, then she said my love was to much, even though she was touched with my words of everyday, even the stronger word for love wouldn't make her stay. Not today. No sir, nor every other day.
But I'm not over it.. This was the closest I've ever came to happiness Or distress, I still can't tell the difference yet. If only tears could bring her back, we'd be avoiding all the half-truths. Cause if God never wanted us, he never would have brought me to you.
These Consequences • Opuss № I