i.* There are glass shards where her heart used to be. This beaten thing, this broken thing, this fragile thing; it beats while black blood pulses through the little cracks of glass. This heart, what keeps her alive will also be her cause of death and she knows it. It has loved and lost, lost itself in the quells of heartache. It is not whole but it's still there, beating on.
ii. When she places this heart in your hands, I beg, do not grimace at this hollow, broken thing. It's not pretty, I know, but it is hers and when she gives it to you, do not run. This heart is heavy, this heart is weak but if you've made it this far -- made a home in her chest -- I beg, please stay.
iii. She's moody and sometimes much too quiet but this is not to be taken as disinterest. It's in silence where she feels the most at home. And if your home lies near her glass heart, you are home where she is. The quiet, dark rooms in her mind are where her thoughts of you lay safe. All of the things that she'd never say, but she thinks of them often. They are secrets to you, but they mean everything to her.
iv. Sometimes she'll look at you and she won't stop. A lingering stare with glowing eyes and a slight curl at the corners of her lips. She'll look at you like you hung the moon and stars, like you created the constellations with your bare hands. This is how she drinks you in, and when you decide to leave, this is how she will remember you.
v. She won't remember all of the arguments you've had, nor the spiteful names you've called her. She won't remember the time you nearly threw her against the wall in a drunken rage. Accidents happen. *"It'll never happen again," you said. "I'm so sorry," you said.
vi. She will remember you smiling. She will remember you laughing so hard that you couldn't breathe, she will remember you looking down at her with a twinkle in your eye when you first told her you loved her. These are the memories that she stores, the ones that play on repeat in her broken glass heart; images projected on the walls of her chest and with every beat comes a ripping tide of black blood.
vii. She may call you at 3am, just a little drunk and very lonely. She'll tell you that she needs you and that she's so sorry for being the way that she is. She's so sorry for making you want to leave. She's pleading and there are tears in her eyes when she opens her front door but she hurls herself at you, arms tight around your neck, but you don't move.
viii. This is desperation, this is how she tries to win you back. This is when it's almost unbearable to watch her. The beautiful girl you knew replaced by a lovesick drunk. But you're here and you know her, you know better than to leave her like this. So you stay and you watch her, ensure that she doesn't do anything stupid.
ix. You sleep in the same bed and her legs are tangled with yours. Her head lays on your chest and for a moment, it's almost like nothing's changed. But these walls reek of love scorned. These bed sheets are a straitjacket. The girl that was once your home is a noose.
x. You wake up as the sun begins to slip through the blinds of her window. She's still clinging to you, and it's almost like old times but you get up before the noose gets any tighter. You try not to wake her, try to leave undetected but her sleepy voice stops you. Her eyes are still closed and her arms are reaching for a man who isn't there.
"Stay, don't go. I'll eat you up, I love you so..."
But you're already out the door.
heavy inspiration and even a line from the song, 'the definition of not-leaving' by hands like houses. i tried to do something different and i really like how this came out, so.