Of A Writer And Her Obsessions.

I am awfully obsessed with tragedies for someone who looks so happy, and I am equally obsessed with being the tragic heroine of my own story, starring solo in a modern tragedy, so much that I will go to any lengths to turn a story into one.

I am a writer and a lover, and today, let me tell you about my darker side, and about the damage that I cause.

I will love you helplessly, a slave to my heart, and love you to the very core of your being with every heart beat.

I will love you but until, oh just until you start to take my love for granted and then I will love you some more as I fall apart myself, enough for you to fall down even deeper into the rabbit hole of your delusions, so far down that you wouldn’t know the sun from the moon, you won’t be able to see either anyways, and right when you start to take my love to be a part of your being, something as you as the air you breathe in, maybe just as vital too, I will leave.

I will leave and it will be your fault, and I shall pin the guilt and blame like beautiful ribbons and starry badges all around your neck, and over your shoulder and under your arms, I will pull them tight until they constrict all movement and make even breathing difficult, until your eyes water simply at the most fleeting thought of me.

I will set fire to both of our insides, and you can try to put it out all you will, darling, but you can never extinguish a flame this arsonist has started, and you will be the vile villain, the one who broke my heart and threw me to the wolves while I act my part of the perfect victim, heartbroken beyond thought.

Image taken from here.


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