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 Apr 2013 Paris Adamson
liv hart
x
one of the most liberating moments
someone can ever live through
is the moment where they realize
that it wasn't their fault
that they were left.
the moment they finally decide
it's time to
forgive themselves
for thinking they deserved
to be
abandoned.
i still have those pictures
from your disposable camera
you gave me five years ago
when my hair was still long,
when we were still in love.
i don't look at them anymore.
and to be honest,
i don't even know where they are
or when i looked at them last
but i find comfort in knowing
they are taking up some space,
somewhere, in this disorganized room of mine.

i still have your name carved into
the top of my ceiling
which is funny because
you were always the one so quick to define
the meaning of impermanence.
i guess all ceilings eventually
collapse.
i think i clung too tightly to the possibility
of you never leaving, and so i carved
your name into my ceiling to comfort myself
during all the noise that not even your name
could silence.
i don't look at it anymore.
and even though you're gone, there are some people
who leave traces of themselves behind
in the most obscure places that not even they
become aware of.

i still have all of the love letters
you wrote me when i was sixteen.
they are sitting in a box beneath a pile of books and papers
on the bottom of my bookshelf.
i don't read them anymore.
i contemplated burning them more than once,
but i stopped myself because
what's the point in loving someone if you can't even
prove that the love was actually there
after everything has been said and done,
after all of it has left you?
i get so terrified,
to think that perhaps memory
is more unreliable than anything, and so i keep the things
you gave me as secret stash to show
that
we
happened once.

sometimes i wonder what it would have been like
to have given you the chance to explain yourself
face to face
i will probably never
know what it feels like to land on the moon
but that does not stop me from
gazing at it night after night paralyzed
with wondering
how anything could ever be that beautiful.
somethings should be left unseen
while others, simply left
unknown.
The stars are shivering tonight
as your breath cloisters round my neck
while the hands of the clock
move backward

ohmigod.
Believe me,
the blank page in front of me
the one attached on the monitor has its own face.
It makes my finger tremble,
***** incoherent words.

It looked bright, but vacant
as if married to someone
but without love
like life without meaning
existence without purpose.

For countless times I heard it sighed
a heavy, heaving sigh
a sigh that exhaled past lovers
dissolving on the creased bed sheet
and reappearing underneath the unwashed blankets.

Their egos bruised.
Their names old.
Their home in the labyrinth of yesterday,
in a village somewhere in the world
that revolves between their uneven breath.

Their stories stacked,
in the deepest corner of a human heart.

No one could unearth them.
~Lacus Crystalthorn 2013
i remember the time
i told you all of my secrets  that one night
you drove me home

"please don't hate me"
i kept repeating
you looked at me all wide eyed as if
that thought had never crossed your mind

your innocence
should have
rubbed off on me

i still wish there could have been something different
i had said or done
that would have made you
stay

you made me feel accepted that night
but it was short lived
as all good things are

my heart was too malleable
for you
i will always envy your
penchant for detachment
Your voice on my hair
Your breath on my skin.
The arch of your spine.
The void in your mouth.
The flood on your tongue.

They say it's beautiful,
but it's not.
Through the half-opened door, I watched you dissolved yourself in the thousand places and hundred years in your book. The sun hadn’t gone out today, like yesterday. As you flipped the pages and contain love between your fingers, the cat beside you remained uninterested to the benign indifference of the world.

Your coffee had gone cold, cream flared indiscreetly like those letters I have written and never sent, torn to pieces, all bits screaming your name. I can hear the sound of your tongue licking your lips – you always do that, before you form your words. After I disappear with you.

The sound of my footfalls echoed and I watched it wrapped the wall, covered the hinges of the door, up on the roof, and then dripped on its edges, fell like rain, kissed the pavement madly, then broke irrevocably like hearts. In our sheer vulnerability, this is how we encompassed the world.

I moved closer and you disappeared in your secret self, again. Roughness seethed my palm as I invade the space you have fenced. I wonder if this curtain had ever questioned how long has it been since you last summoned infinity, with me.

In this dungeon.
That night.
When the stars were disarrayed.
When immortality was defied.
When heat was lingering on the wall, in the atmosphere.
When I dismembered the universe just to melt with you while the entire space is screaming at me to run.

You must have heard my plea, my open mouth just above your ear. You should have heard me, to never stop your lips from measuring the length of my neck, to never chain your hands set wild between my legs, to let me bury your hair strands between my fingers, to always encompass me in your scorching breath.

And then eventually,
To burn me away.
*Lacus Crystalthorn , 2013
 Apr 2013 Paris Adamson
catherine
in the
dark
with your body pressed against mine, you ask me questions
because you want to know my mind
want to know me
and not just the face you see

you ask me things like
what is your favorite color, food, embarrassing memory,
etc.
etc.
etc.

all pretty tame questions
ever break anything? you say and i assume you mean
bones so i tell you about breaking my wrist, the
snapped radius and the misplaced ulna
but you stop me
no, like,
broken something. you know?

something like someone’s heart?

and i think no nothing like that because i’m not sure
if anyone else has ever loved me
enough to be sad
i left

but i don’t say that
instead
i tell you about smashing plates against the wall
for fun
and when i’m done

you’re fast asleep.
You are my split-apart. A sliver of me that twinks
in the chill dark
of your absinthe, absent.
A corrosive mender
of fences
That I drink
with.
and drink
hard

A jab
and a flick
of a kiss
that I long
for.

A short
court and spark
that i'm always up
for.
So sorry 'bout the mess
but the next thing
to conquer
is shame
without naming
the game
we wake up
for

god knows nothing
but sharp sticks
and halos

but i know

you love

me.
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