deathi knew a man once who feared death.who feared the unknown, andthe end, as well asthe beginning.but what he feared most of all werethe in-betweens.what if? he asked.what if i were to die, and my soulnever left the earth?would i remain here, a mere phantomforever damned to roam?there was a boy, too.a boy who did not fear death, but embraced it.the unknown was lovely,the beginning a gift, and the endwas not the end, but an acceptedaspect of life.the in-betweens were glorious,moments to discover and imagine.if, he said to me,if i were to die, and my soulnever left the earth,and if i were to remain here,
break my bonessticks and stones, love.these are the words that i left you, when i slipped a worn sheet of folded parchment beneath your pillow this morning. with steady hands, i pressed my pen down and forced the letters out, till i nearly tore through the page. words can do that, you know; tear things apart- rip them- until only the shredded fragments remain of what once was. you know this, don't you, love? you must, because it's what you've done to me.-break my bones, please.this is the sole thought that reeled through my mind last night, when you dragged your curved, red-tipped fingers up my thighs and gripped my skeleton hips with fo
where are you?darling,in the cob-webbed corner of my attic, there is a pile of letters addressed to you and bound with red ribbon. the pages are aged and stained, the inked letters are rubbing off, and the ribbon has faded and frayed. in the dark recesses of my mind, these unsent letters symbolize our love- aged, worn, and broken. don't you agree?-love,i sent you a bouquet of pressed flowers once. they were sunflowers, do you remember? bright and yellow, they were like mini-suns, blooms of happiness. when i plucked each one from the earth, it was like i had severed its tie to the world's source of joy. by the time i collected enough flowers to send