10 Metaphors Explaining Why I Can No Longer Love You

1. You bleach your teeth with venom to look pleasing while you kill. My lips are eating away at themselves. These are the chemicals of your poison reacting with mine.

2. You set your lungs on fire, when your thoughts strain your limbs, to burn breaths out of your life. You press your mouth on mine, begging for my oxygen. My lungs will not return the breaths you’ve burnt. I do not have to breathe for anyone but myself.

3. There are pieces of our ghosts in the spaces between us. The ghosts in your dark rooms have found their way into mine.

4. You look for a brighter light but find a darker tunnel. To you, everything seems out of reach. It’s not your hands that will get you there.

5. I stutter and you shame my tongue for slipping on itself. You fail to realize the irony of your discomfort as my fingers shake.

6. I scan my body and see yours. You’ve disposed me of myself. I do not exist.

7. I was generous enough to share the privacy of my own thoughts. You said poetry is just another excuse for people to stop making sense and not have to feel bad about it. I still regard you as art.

8. I fuck for the speechlessness. You fuck for the screams.

9. There is a blue birth mark on your shoulder and red vines down the backs of your thighs. Needles prodded blue skulls into your back and there is a picture of the scabbing underneath the red dress in your trunk. Dresses come in many different colours. Mine are black.

10. Where are you?

—  Alessia Di Cesare, 10 Metaphors Explaining Why I Can No Longer Love You

loving you was like reading my favorite book for the first time, and realizing half way through that it just knocked all other books out. halfway through me and you, I realized you were my favorite book. every crease, corner, page, and chapter of you was my favorite.

but then loving you was like finishing my favorite book for the first time. and I’m burned out carrying this novel around not knowing what to do. knowing I could never read another story that made me feel the way this one did. my heart still aches and starting it over isn’t an option. because beginnings, at least the good ones, are always slow. and it’s too many pages away from the peak in the book where everything is perfect and I just want to rush back to that spot. but then it’s not enough pages away from the drop in the book that opened my chest and shredded what was inside.

loving you is like that. and I can’t start over with you because I know how this book ends, and I don’t have the energy to write a sequel.

(it would never be as good as the first anyway.)

so I’m stuck carrying around this book that tells the beautiful story of a lost love that was supposed to last forever. and I couldn’t possibly pick up a new book, but god our book is thicker than I thought and it’s heavy in my arms, and the ending is so sad that thinking about it makes me cry and my eyes are drying out I think. and I’m wondering why I’m the one who’s stuck with the remaining pages when you jumped ship four chapters ago.

but loving you was like reading my favorite book for the first time, except it was one I borrowed from the public library and yesterday after six months of over due fees and letters in the mail, I finally dropped it off in the book drop outside the door. and I forgot all about the characters and the way they loved each other so sharply they both have cuts from the pages.

—  borrowed books (via: emptiestoceans)
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