I promised you a thousand sonnets, love. I’m sorry I didn’t get them done sooner. I’m not going to be able to keep that promise after all.
A large part of me will never really stop thinking about you. You’re in the seams, between the lines, even in the poems that weren’t about you.
But it’s time for both of us to move on. This thing of ours has never been healthy. I’m starting a new chapter.
A little less “you”. A little less “Ephidel”.
These are for me now.
Cevlgozznt, pmjtrbqeg, cetciaq ik ml cszn. Pyuznt mtfsr– dwf cyyav, tby kcofo, xcencm Z dbx’b naad bf aaiufrr-
S’u guyvmu ackzk iacque nxl fug lg kwvcbvd nzxrrvdqfnf yn khr yvvs V vwme nxl khr yvvs V rike. Nxl poh’bm yeeo. Eyy nbm poh rmie? Jrg nohvl poh rmcp, jrg nohvl poh vmk tuou?
Sug xw- khnd’a eog bmrl. Ayb rnlwwie. Lyc nohvl eeioz xo grik fnb ixavx. Af wui lf I fdqcl fom poh? Gpp db S prvr dw jer dpzs?
Br, ww cbezje. Grmie uo qj, tuo zvafyv nhl. Rm’j rrkt, Z kaye ye vc. Q khvxs ye vc. Bye bxm ne oyby rrfwcvr kzfuan. Bye fev ko lyci sgkzj, tuo efryn Q tiemtv aeyced. V’fm yued pzm gyw dupr. Qw hr gietf dpzs, grme I’yv azt ckbzeadtp.
I’yv jv gbyl r lvdbce yyvxee.
Odvn vp qk dboaet uotg.
I fall deeper into the dark, fearing and craving your touch. You’d hate to see me like this, so in a misplaced fit of spite I swim further, further down. The dull cries and pleading of everyone we loved grows faint. Audible, but more or less irrelevant. Tolerable. Ignorable.
I’m aware, somewhere in the back of my mind, that I’m making a mistake. But it’s easier this way. That’s how I justify it to myself.
Truthfully, I just can’t resist hurting myself more when you’re not around to do it.
Press a little harder on the knife, my friend. I think it might be good for us. Just like before–I promise not to break this time.
You’re the bloody gatekeeper of the void in my head. Spinning wildly out of control, tethered only by your darkened touch. I miss the man you used to be about as much as the one who still knew you. Even so, my love.
It’d be healthier if you’d straight up killed me.
Hello.
It’s been a while.
There’s been a lot of stuff that’s running through my head.
I think about you all the time, but I can’t for the life of me remember why. It’s not your fault, I know it’s not my fault, but still the problem persists.
I’ve got my life back, right to where I want it. Everything’s in order, everything’s as it should be. If you’re not here with me, then maybe that’s just how it needs to be.
I say that. I believe it. I do. But in the back of my mind, searching for whatever it is I’ve lost, I know. I know.
I’m still here, and I will be for a while. Still missing, and always missing you.
There’s a sense of cold, echoing through my bones. I’m peering through the dark, but your light is nowhere to be seen.
I cling to every memory; the ones no one–no misguided interloper–could ever pull away from me. And yet, if it meant feeling your touch again for even a second, perhaps it would be worth it?
I used to fear I’d never escape your orbit. But here I am, spinning idly in the dark.
I’ve danced with her, of course. That I remember.
I’m no longer sure what my intentions were at the time. Did I think I could steal her away? Whisk her into the night? Did I think you’d be jealous, or scared?
I remember very little of the night, but i know I lost whatever game I was playing the moment I saw you there.
Have we ever actually danced together? I find i cant quite recall.
Truth be told, it’s not my style. I’m all about the hesitation, the half second before you take my hand and we both know the game I’m playing.
It’s yours, though. I’ve always known that. Elegant, refined, dreamlike. Down to the core you embody a certain element of classic taste. I think sometimes it’d be impossible for anyone to look good by your side. Certainly it’s impossible for me to.
So instead, I hold out my hand and I wait to meet your eyes.
You, you you you.
It’s been a while since we were last here.
The situation has changed irreparably. We can never really go back. Yet there you are. I see you flitting around, weaving between us and around us like you’re waiting to be invited in. Come now, darling, you know better than that.
you dont, and i hate that i love that.
Would it be unacceptably pathetic of me to call out to you? To pull you back to my side? Would you forgive me for it?
Well, I suppose we both know you would. The real question is, would I?
Somewhere or another, things went wrong.
She loves me. Where are you? She loves me. We need to fix this.
You’re content to sit and wait and watch.
She loves me.
I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
Echoed Refrains 