07-15-2020, 12:11 AM
when you're dreaming with a broken heart
He keeps kissing her, and she keeps fighting the feeling that is trying to bloom in her chest. She refuses to water it, refuses to give it the chance to grow, no matter how badly it wants to blossom from beneath the layers of ice she has crafted over the years. He could melt them all if she wasn’t so vehemently guarding every piece of herself that he has already broken – the pieces that were so carelessly stitched back together, the pieces that would fall back apart if she looked at them for too long. Time could only heal so much, and she had already been so irreversibly broken before he delivered the final blow that left her changed in ways that could never be fixed.
She knows nothing good will come of this, or at least, not for her. She knows she will spend the following months or years or lifetimes regretting this or replaying what she did wrong to make him leave, again, because she knows this will only end in him leaving.
She’s starting to think it might be easier to cave, if only to prove to herself what she has known all along – to prove that love doesn’t exist between them anymore.
Lying to herself, convincing herself this was some twisted way of her maintaining control of her own heartbreak, would make it easier, she is certain.
His lips drag down towards her jaw, and the gravity of his touch pulls her down with it. Against everything she knows she lets him in, she lets herself walk into what is sure to be her undoing. She stares her heartache in the face, and she pulls him in.
She is tentative at first when she touches him back, a fluttering touch to his cheek, and then his neck. “I missed you,” she whispers, the ache of tears returning to her throat, her heart trembling and stumbling in her chest. “I used to dream of you coming back,” a confession murmured between the kisses she leaves on his neck, and across the familiar slope of his shoulder. “You already know how to love me, Plume.” She pushes against him, lets her delicate nose bury in the tangled strands of his mane, lets herself be immersed and drowning in him. “You’re the only one that has ever loved me at all.”
She knows nothing good will come of this, or at least, not for her. She knows she will spend the following months or years or lifetimes regretting this or replaying what she did wrong to make him leave, again, because she knows this will only end in him leaving.
She’s starting to think it might be easier to cave, if only to prove to herself what she has known all along – to prove that love doesn’t exist between them anymore.
Lying to herself, convincing herself this was some twisted way of her maintaining control of her own heartbreak, would make it easier, she is certain.
His lips drag down towards her jaw, and the gravity of his touch pulls her down with it. Against everything she knows she lets him in, she lets herself walk into what is sure to be her undoing. She stares her heartache in the face, and she pulls him in.
She is tentative at first when she touches him back, a fluttering touch to his cheek, and then his neck. “I missed you,” she whispers, the ache of tears returning to her throat, her heart trembling and stumbling in her chest. “I used to dream of you coming back,” a confession murmured between the kisses she leaves on his neck, and across the familiar slope of his shoulder. “You already know how to love me, Plume.” She pushes against him, lets her delicate nose bury in the tangled strands of his mane, lets herself be immersed and drowning in him. “You’re the only one that has ever loved me at all.”
the waking up is the hardest part
ANONYA
