he doesn't even realise it yet,
but holding her is but a momentary bliss
and being abandoned by her is torture.
despite already being caught in it,
he doesn't see the intricately spun web
or perhaps he doesn't mind it at all,
hanging by the thread of a a fleeting kiss.
she's fire and fury, barely contained,
a hurricane, disobeying the nature's orders,
an impossibility, endlessly defying itself,
and he doesn't even realise it yet,
but he's always been hers.

she borrows the light from the sun
just before it can set,
slipping to the other side of the horizon,
reflecting it in her irises,
covering them in liquid gold.
she's the entity that the pagans prayed to,
the object of countless legends.
she slips into her skin like a hand-sewn dress,
and everyone who ever loved her
is now consumed by the earth.
she picks flowers that took root in their skulls,
wears a crown of white ribs
and grows around their remains like moss.
she's the end of all things,
the silent watcher of time,
meeting the travelers on every single one
of the countless roads.
she borrows the light from the sun
just before it can set,
breaking through the other side of the horizon,
reflecting it in her irises,
standing by as the world around her burns.

a paragraph, written a million times
doesn't remain the same cause the words
are constantly changing themselves,
and you are as well.
a fire that burns through the night
may seem bleak compared to the brightness
of a brand new sunrise,
but at the end of the day
it's not the amount of light that counts
but the strength to survive again.
and people are not some constructs
to be created and disassembled at whim.
they have their own voices
and their own incredible stories to tell,
and you do as well.

i hope there's a place for us
in the end.
unwanted, unpleasant,
they feel so uneasy when we bring it up,
the horrors of death.
they want to forget,
they want to be safe in their bubbles
of blissful oblivion.
right.
should we say we're sorry
for being too loud,
too angry, too stubborn,
not willing to die without a struggle?
perhaps we're just making it all up.
well,
although it was mostly pretend,
we really appreciate
your concern.
thanks for nothing.
i hope there's a place for you, too,
in the end.

a false promise of freedom to a captured man,
just like a cup of poison, filled up to the brim.
a note between the stones of all the walls we've built
and all all the walls they tore down just to fight again.
it's nothing like the light that breaks a peaceful dawn,
it's painted in the colours of a foreign flag.
and everything that burns takes us a lifetime back,
and everyone who died was not meant to be born.
acceptance isn't earned, it's but a weapon drawn
and aimed at those who dare to overstep the line.
a shattered cup of poison for a senseless crime
filled up by blood of every prisoner of war.

there, if you can see the end of the line,
where shadow and light intertwine,
we'll watch the birth of a short-lived twilight
before its life is consumed by the night.
we'll hold each other and watch the tide
as it approaches us from the horizon.
for what it's worth this life never felt quite right
without you carrying me through every storm,
without you catching me after every fall,
and it's my honour to love you this one last time.
we'll meet again, there, at the end of the line.

there's a letter, forgotten on the shelf.
to the unknown lover.
to the one i lost.
to the one i dreamed up on a sleepless night.
to the one who haunts me like a ghost.
to the one that never bothered to call.
to the one that simply wasn't right.
to the one i hurt.
to the one who broke my heart.
to the one who forgot.
to the one i imagined my future with.
to the one who slowly drifted apart.
to the one with the sweetest goodbye kiss.
to the one that i thought was the one.
there's a letter, forgotten on the shelf.
to the unknown lover.
to the one who left.