He has spent lifetimes watching it play out.
Rewinding and replaying every moment in a constant loop.
There she is again, nearly lost in torrents of whirling snowflakes that exist only to die by the heat of her skin as they settle on the planes of her body like they belong. He counts them sometimes, as they collect, when he has watched for the thousandth time and can’t think of anything better to recollect about those final unyielding seconds. There are as many of them as there are reasons she should hate him; a conclusion he has reached without a crippling remorse.
Sometimes when he is watching he thinks of ways he could have won her.
Most times, he thinks of the ways he can ruin her still — lets her rejection coat him, thick and black as tar, writhes in it until he suffocates, again and again and again. He drinks it down like poisoned wine, and when he is finished and his tongue is burning and his insides are festering, pours another glass.
Perhaps it is his biggest flaw, the way his pride consumes him; how he fixates on any deemed assault to his own ego.
It is of no surprise then, that he finds her.
That he has been watching, licking his septic wounds from the purple-black shadows of all the worlds he knows without her. Waiting, biding his time as her sides grew round and ripe in the comfort of her newly found haven. He is ready now, his scabs freshly peeled with the knowledge of her latest lover, to rekindle their unequivocal passion as it were.
“You’re not welcome here.”
Oh, and he remembers how much she had meant it as a twisted smirk curls up the ends of his lips, and he appears at the edge of a wild stream.
“Try and stop me.”
He says it aloud, to the trees perhaps, because there is no one to hear him.
Yet.
@[Lepis] :| Oops.
Rewinding and replaying every moment in a constant loop.
There she is again, nearly lost in torrents of whirling snowflakes that exist only to die by the heat of her skin as they settle on the planes of her body like they belong. He counts them sometimes, as they collect, when he has watched for the thousandth time and can’t think of anything better to recollect about those final unyielding seconds. There are as many of them as there are reasons she should hate him; a conclusion he has reached without a crippling remorse.
Sometimes when he is watching he thinks of ways he could have won her.
Most times, he thinks of the ways he can ruin her still — lets her rejection coat him, thick and black as tar, writhes in it until he suffocates, again and again and again. He drinks it down like poisoned wine, and when he is finished and his tongue is burning and his insides are festering, pours another glass.
Perhaps it is his biggest flaw, the way his pride consumes him; how he fixates on any deemed assault to his own ego.
It is of no surprise then, that he finds her.
That he has been watching, licking his septic wounds from the purple-black shadows of all the worlds he knows without her. Waiting, biding his time as her sides grew round and ripe in the comfort of her newly found haven. He is ready now, his scabs freshly peeled with the knowledge of her latest lover, to rekindle their unequivocal passion as it were.
“You’re not welcome here.”
Oh, and he remembers how much she had meant it as a twisted smirk curls up the ends of his lips, and he appears at the edge of a wild stream.
“Try and stop me.”
He says it aloud, to the trees perhaps, because there is no one to hear him.
Yet.
@[Lepis] :| Oops.