September 19, 2011

Four



There once was she. A she nobody has ever seen coming. 
A she who was conceived through war. This warrior. 
Her. 
That little goddess. Feisty like her mother. Passionate as her father. 
She rose. She flew. She landed firmly so. 

You could see it when she reached out and touched you. 
And, God, did she touch me! Ripped me to shreds, she did. 
Inside out, she twisted me. Sang her sweet song to intoxicate me. 
She drew me in like a drug. So sweet. So pure. So divine. 

I used to lie there while she played her honey-soaked harmonica. 
I was bound to her whims. But by choice. 
She never asked me to come. She never asked me to choose.
And yet, it was all her. From the start. And even so. 

I had to stop falling before I bled. I had to discontinue this affair. 
Who could I turn to? Who'd believe me? Who'd care?
Him.
Yes! He'd understand. He was always there. He always seemed to care... 

He didn't. He fled. And never returned to see me. 

I had no choice. I had to let her go! She caused me too much pain. 
Or so I thought at the time. 
And I did. I wrenched myself from her iron-grasp. I ran till my feet were sore. 
I had gotten away. This angel will not be subject to my cowardice. 

Many years have passed, now I live in fear and remorse. 
I look for her around every corner. 
I secretly wish she were here. I wish she'd embrace me with that fiery passion. 
I want to see her eyes light up! I want to feel that bittersweet pain! 
I want to taste the blood again. I want that volcano back!

Can you truly measure their worth by the amount they are missed?
Could you re-live your time with them through memories?
Can you touch them again? Feel that surge rising up from within you?
Hear their sinister laughter? Have them tease you. And bring you to your knees. 

Four years it has been, Goddess Áine.
Four. 

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