Two halves of god

prose piece

“You despised me so much that I made a poet out of you.”  

Though I adored you just enough that my hands ached to write words stained with what seemed like synonyms of your name. 

“I don’t know why I stayed.”  

Perhaps because those words that bloomed within me were a cigarette’s ash burning into my eyes. The ache compensated for something. To date, it’s the only thing I don’t know how to write. Everything I did write about our love was spiteful. I forcefully bled words out of my wrists, desperate to gnaw it all out. 

“They’d always worm their way back into you through the wounds.” 

Now, all I have left is a parchment where red shines too brightly; like a blazing sun under a summer day. The black from my poor, little withered quill never could compete. 

“We were like the sun and moon, were we not?”

You’d set the world ablaze; loudly and carelessly, but the boldness of it never left a question in one’s mind. However, I filled in your shoes quietly, sombrely. It’s as if the rage you nestled within this world would only find me to blame. 

Yet there I was. Forced to wait for your flames. 

They pierced my tender flesh unapologetically. 

I tended to those wounds senselessly. 

You pushed me to the side mindlessly. 

I stood in the corner restlessly.

“We were like two halves of god.” 

What we were, was fools pouring our all into a dying world we could not nurture, and mourned it worse than those beneath its ruins.  I am no God, I cannot forsake this disaster. It is as if my curse, when I split from you, was being condemned to scribble your memory on parchment for an eternity. 

“If you toyed around like an immortal, you’re bound to suffer like one as well.” 

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This piece is inspired by two friends of mine who were once very much in love, it’s a sad story about the fragility of love, the man screwed up- it’s been years and he still begs me to simply give an update on how she’s doing. She did not end things due to her cruelty, rather the realisation that sometimes even when it’s perfect- it’s not always meant to be.

They taught me that all love is beautiful however it comes in different moulds, if those don’t fit than they barely stand a chance. She was a phenomenal woman, still is.

He now writes about her in hopes of penning her out of his mind, they’re both oddly aware of how the other is coping and didn’t mind me writing this explanation- however I can’t quite put my finger on who is who as the narrator. Love isn’t black and white.

Anyhow- Hope you enjoyed, please subscribe and engage if you did! Also I’ll be posting an article as soon as my mocks are over!!

Question; Do you believe in the concept of “the one that got away?”

-Zoha