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At first glance it is a beautiful fabric, and craved, it seems, by many. Delicately made and intricate, so it should be hard to destroy, surely? After all, the time and effort, feeling and emotion, put into it, what a waste it would be to ruin such a fine thing. It is strong, and it is complex. But it is no longer mine. And still it stays here as a relic, resting softly on the skin he used to kiss. One has to wonder in a time of great desperation and loneliness, whether the cotton is strong enough, whether I am strong enough, to tie a noose around my neck. And let it hang.
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Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
relics of a dead romance.
At first glance it is a beautiful fabric, and craved, it seems, by many. Delicately made and intricate, so it should be hard to destroy, surely? After all, the time and effort, feeling and emotion, put into it, what a waste it would be to ruin such a fine thing. It is strong, and it is complex. But it is no longer mine. And still it stays here as a relic, resting softly on the skin he used to kiss. One has to wonder in a time of great desperation and loneliness, whether the cotton is strong enough, whether I am strong enough, to tie a noose around my neck. And let it hang.
March 2010-
hollie-elizabeth
Written by
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
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