I have much farther to go, much farther than I have come. There is no shelter here, there are none sheltered. I am moss, where there once was water. A story untold in the hands of a deranged author. A prelude to an uneventful spectacle. Why is it then, that I live stronger now than I ever did? Maybe because, that's where you begin.
They say ”Words spoken linger longer than corpses in the woods”, I don't believe that. For if it were true, the chant of your name would have erected a monument of the pious. Not that it would have mattered, since you live in my heart, like a God befallen. I purge myself on your shores and you forgive me, in the name of misdirection.
You are a ballad long slain to age, a gospel to guide fate itself. You lie on withered grass, and name each cloud as if you had once cradled it to sleep. You point at the moon and I look at your hand. There are no galaxies here, only your eyes.
Your love to me feels like the blade that cuts a lover's wrist, like the last companion to ever be, the saviour in those dark times, the sharp edge that blunts you of all causes.
Cast your wishes to me. Violent magic comes true. I am bound by death, and my body fails me now. Where have I come? Where must I go? You wouldn't know darling. Oh, you mustn't know.
-Pritika Chandra