November 25th, Year of Silence

I thought it was safe for me now, for no reasons well-earned or fact-based. Menacing silhouettes were nowhere in sight, after all. Caprice, a product of a broken heart’s need to mend itself, were left in memory, contained by remorse. My emotions were no longer controlled by a pendant, a lunar phase, a solar greeting. The bitter sting of a suffocating love was left on someone else’s doorstep, to raise up high, or drown in a river.

I have fallen for many men, or I have played at it well. One passed me by, tugging at my heart, releasing its poisonous contents, thereby gaining my temporary loyalty, if not fidelity. Then, I moved away, only to cross paths with another man. This is the way it must work. We all move, and we are all moved. We take in, and let go.

No, I have not cared for men, but for shadows. They are empty and weightless. Things that cannot be loved, but obsessed over. I have waited for a king’s rise, refusing to believe he could not be found among the dark shapes.

November 25th, Year of Silence

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