how do you walk across the universe?
as if you're not carrying the weight of the world
across your shoulders.
how do you move through the stars?
as if you're not weighed down
by the iron shackles binding your feet.
how do you do it?
watch as your whole world crumbles.
the air you breathe turns to gold.
and you choke as it forces its way
down your throat and into your lungs.
tell me midas, was it worth it?
that midas touch.
your daughter, trapped in a golden suit, doesn't seem to think so.
ingredients | serves: 1
three nights spent in a haze wrapped around each other before the fog lifted and clarity chased the glow away
five soft smiles that were lost in the limbo between want and need
two hundred and eighty four barely-there, feather-light caresses, stolen while they were asleep
two sets of heartbeats in sync with each other
one hundred and twelve sweet nothings whispered under the safety net of darkness
one song sung to you as they nursed you back to health, already stripped and chopped
four cups of air you’ve breathed into each other
seventy two fleeting moments in which you looked up at their face and you felt your stomach churn
four tablespoons of the sweat that dripped from your bodies and seeped into the sheets that first night you touched
two willing bodies
directions | preparation: 8 months
gather one of the two bodies and prop it up against the wooden chair.
grab the remaining body and lean it against the doorway.
don’t say anything. don’t break the spell. don’t ruin the recipe. you only have one chance at this.
set the temperature to slow burn for three weeks and let it simmer.
once you feel the fire in your veins hot enough to melt glass, the burning in your fingers strong enough to leave a mark, and the bubble in your throat threatening to burst, imagine yourself in a block of ice and swallow up the words that try to slip past your lips. i love you. note: do not let them out.
finely crush the seventy two moments where your stomach had a mind of its own. do not let it show. you can’t afford to waste those moments.
mix in the the barely-there caresses and for each lost smile, stir for an additional week, because that’s how long you’ll be thinking of them before you even realise how much space they’ve taken up inside your mind.
pour the cups of the air you’ve shared into a blender for three nights, then mix in the sweat, and place in the fridge to chill. never let them thaw. do not hurt yourself by reminiscing.
place the heart in your hands and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until the blood spills onto the broken chopping board that is your rib cage and then throw it away. an empty heart serves no purpose.
say your prayers and hope for the best.
you wanted a love potion, didn’t you?
you’re in luck, this will only cost your soul.
I want to eat ambrosia
from your fingertips.
I want to lick the wine
from your lips.
I want to **** the nectar
from your veins.
you’re standing in front of the mirror
that’s still foggy from the steam from the shower
that’s been running for almost 48 minutes
and you can’t seem to pull away
your hair’s unwashed and your skin is sickly and pale
you can’t even look yourself in the eye
you run your hands down your face
feeling the bruising around your eyes
you run your hands down your throat
feeling the burns the rope left behind
you run your hands down your chest
feeling the skin that will never look the same as before
you run your hands down your legs
feeling the ghosts of hands clawing at you
when you look back into the mirror
you don’t recognise the woman staring back
you're the empty shell of a woman
who lost the war
Imagine, if you will, a boy. A boy with dark hair and soft, pretty eyes framed by long lashes. And you want this boy. You want to reach inside him, pull out his still-beating heart, and swallow it whole. You want to peel off his skin, inch by inch, crawl inside of it, and never let go. You want to pull him apart, limb by limb, until you've studied every inch of him. You want him to put his hands inside you. Deep down into parts of yourself you forgot existed. You want him to soothe the ache he left in your chest.
Do you remember the girl with the electric touch? As she placed her hand on the back of your neck, she breathed undiscovered galaxies into your lungs. Do you remember when she traced constellations across your back, and named each one for you. Do you remember when she reached inside of you and plucked the flowers that sprouted from the stardust she left behind, and weaved them into your hair.