Oh, honey, don’t go.
You came like a monster, like a bright, flying beast, streaking blood across the sky.
You blackened out the sun, brought ash and choking.
You were magnificent the way forest fires are. Hideous, like crows and carrion.
Your mindless wrath swept across the world like a windstorm, and you didn’t leave a single stone unturned. A single life unwrecked – the gnarliest struggles were the ones that took place in kitchens. By fireplaces. In wide, lonely beds.
You were thorough in your destruction.
You were Godlike, but in the end, you were only a man.
When you fell, you went in flames, and you burned like flesh is supposed to burn – slow, black, and rancid.  You were a rotten, miserable, soulless vessel, you empty conduit for agony.
But somewhere in the thick, in the dark, somewhere amongst the ruins,
I fell crippled into love.
Maybe I discovered an untouched center in you that I could fit into if I curved my body just right –
If I exhaled just enough, spread myself out thin to catch all your charred bits as they flecked away in the wake of your storm.
Maybe there was a pit in my soul maddened enough to pull to you.
Maybe the space you burnt out inside me was one only you could fill.
My inside-out heart yearned for you every bit as much as it yearned for the love you tore from within me.


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