I have been trying to write a piece for years now.
One.
Specific.
Piece.
For many years.
Four years, to be exact.
I have only written its title so far, and even that I did four years ago and hid it from the world, from myself.
So I began but did not continue.
(What miserable excuse will pardon the fact that I deprived myself of this?)
It appears that I have not moved an inch from the starting point, but I could swear to you that I have it written down somewhere in my mind.
It simply doesn't exist on paper yet.
(Poor excuse.)
No matter what, I cannot breathe life into it.
I cannot write life into it.
So I keep dropping the pen without writing a word.
(Weak...)
There is this one title that stands firm, an idea, an outline I keep holding onto.
But it is far from enough.
It is not written down, no matter how well I have it visualized.
It is not the piece I want it to be.
And I don't dare to write, to even try, for I know it won't do justice to the image of it I have built over these four
My heart is scarred by my own mind—a sharp blade, ready to cut all emotion with reason.
There is no emotion, no feeling in the world I'd trade for the clarity of my mind.
I would not drop this blade for anyone—
(Even myself, especially myself).
For I remember so well how deep the cut was when feelings ruled, when I dropped my weapon and let the heart lead instead.
Now that the cut has (somewhat) healed, the grip around the blade I forged has grown even tighter.
It is my hand that is bleeding now, by my own blade nonetheless.
It is I who spills my blood for the sake of wisdom.
It is my blood that I am shedding, not yours.
See the difference between the two of us?
?
Do you?
?
Do you really?
...
See that I am not here for revenge, though.
I did not stand in front of you for vengeance.
I am here to observe, to understand more, to know better—
to never fail myself the way I did back then.
Even if it means sacrificing my own blood.
Even if I am the one causing me pain.
Even if it's the last
"You're the oath of my life, losing you is equal to death and so I stay, even from afar, I'm only yours the way you're mine, in this life and every other.
Oath is an oath and you are mine."
...
"You've always been the oath of my life, losing you is no longer a possibility and so I stay, we've been far away from each other enough.
I'm only yours the way you're mine, in this life and every other, faith brought us together.
Faith is with us."
I.L.
@Iviwrites
The blade in your hands is not my destiny by Iviwrites, literature
Literature
The blade in your hands is not my destiny
You put a blade to my throat and ask why I don't shake in fear,
why I don't cry for help,
beg for mercy.
You press the blade to my neck just enough to make it look like a papercut, nothing more.
I don't move.
Not because I am frozen in fear, but because I am aware that if you wish to end me, slowly as you started, or quickly in your usual manner, moving wouldn't mean anything.
So I stay still and make peace with the blade you keep pressing into my skin.
I feel your hands shaking and sweat falling off your forehead.
Now I ask:
Why do you shake in fear?
Why do you shiver?
It is not me pressing the cold knife against your throat.
It is your manner, your doing.
It's all you.
I remain still, so very used to the sharpness and coldness of all sorts.
I remain.
I don't move.
Out of frustration for lack of my reaction, you press the blade deeper and blood starts flowing, slowly.
If anyone saw me, they'd say I scratched myself over some sharp surface while being in my own world.
Nothing unusual
Swimming through pools of regret.
Seas even.
An ocean?
Ocean of regret.
Am I a horrible woman for loving a man like you or are you the horrible one because you made a woman like me turn into a monster, turn into you?
We are the terrible ones for loving
the right souls,
in a very wrong time,
we both knew,
right from the start,
it didn't stop us from falling,
it won't save us,
it won't stop us from drowning
in the ocean of sorrow and despair,
in the ocean where our souls first met,
the same ocean which used to be full of uncertainty.
Now it is certain-no amount of love can save the drowned-there is no luck for the fallen ones-no compassion for the heartbroken ones-there is no safety for the lovers.
You knew there was a risk.
You never knew how risky it was.
How can you predict the depth of an ocean?
How can you predict the depth of a person?
You can never know until you start swimming.
You can never know until you start loving.
An ocean of regret for the times I've spent drowning for
I thought I loved only to realize,
I haven't hated,
until I did.
Then, it was all the same to me. Love and hate.
Actually, I would've preferred it if you sincerely hated me.
At least in one way,
I would've been sure how sincere the feelings were.
With love, you just never know...the amount, strength, durability.
Hate, however, is timeless, endless, once you start hating on something, someone, it never truly goes away. You either hate them, that, all the time or you swallow the hate and turn a bit more bitter each time you do so.
Each time, you become a bit worse of a person than you used to be,
than you remember yourself to be.
Eventually, by hating them and that, you start hating yourself. After that, no amount of love, from them and that can help you.
Not even your love can help you, your love towards the world and yourself.
You're ruined.
So, when you ask me, again and if you do ask me, what's stronger, love or hate, know that once I've loved every creation of this world only to get
Thank you for the support! An antique rotary phone just rang off the hook out of nowhere to announce that I've materialized in town for tonight only before vanishing into the dawn again until Thursday evening 😁
