"i wish you could have been there for the sun & the rain & the long, hard hills. for the sound of a thousand conversations scattered along the road. for the people laughing & crying & remembering at the end. but, mainly, i wish you could have been there."
"Your name no longer feels like glass in my mouth.
I burned down the house it built in my throat, choking down every word that didn’t belong to you.
It’d be so much easier if I could hate you.
But lately I just feel confused.
That wasn’t love, friends keep telling me, not how it’s supposed to be.
Maybe they’re right.
It wasn’t love, it was hurt and hell and pain, and burning obsession.
Three hundred miles away, under different hair and a different name,
and I can see it for what it was.
For what you were.
You painted my world roses.
As red as the blood that spilt from that razor wire at my neck.
Whispered pretty poems with rifles in your hands.
Were you ever even capable of love?
You spoke of death like some speak of romance, and you purged my life of everyone that wasn’t you.
You painted me as your savior and your threat.
Dressed me up in frills and lace, and bade me dance for all to see.
I was your jester, not your queen.
You’ll disappear, you warned me, I’ll consume you heart and soul;
Was the single most honest thing you ever told me.
And it went right over my head.
I can never say you didn’t tell me to run.
You told me everyday, but it always hit my ears as Stay, stay, stay.
I want to hate you so bad for being the reason I looked into my sisters’ eyes when I said I’d be right back, and I straight lied.
I want to hate you for putting that gun in my hands, and saying just hold tight, baby, just hold tight.
I thought love was like that time we drank too much absinthe before diving off a bridge,
that heady swamp of the veins as I looked down, as you said jump and hit the ground.
But that emotion has a name you taught me to forget: and I relearned fear the day you said you’d take the whole town out in your wake, and didn’t even flinch.
You once had a law, a moral compass which pointed true, that your trainers beat into you.
When you spoke of breaking away, I believed you spoke of liberation.
I thought it was endearing, brave, even, that you chose to steer your own.
I was wrong, I was wrong, I was wrong.
You spoke of madness.
We argued more times over lives than most argue in their lives,
just two gods playing chess and flipping coins over wine.
We were Hades and Persephone, and when springtime came I ran.
I could no longer play poker with my heart, or play chance with death.
I wonder if anyone will ever know how close you came to burning that whole town to ash, how much of a fight I waged to stop you.
Everyone was right; you were right: we didn’t rage love.
What we raged was war."
and who did you tell where you buried the bones (via her-roaring-twenties)