Please be advised this area can be triggering, so read cautiously.
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This had been inescapable; I can see that now, looking back. Even though there had never been a chance for another ending, this moment was a cold star fixed in the sky — destined, promised. And so I stood silently and let it happen to me. What else was there to do?
She wasn’t coming. I hadn’t expected her to — had thought, maybe— or no, not thought, but wanted. And want was such a wild beast, removed from logic completely, howling inside the heart.
I wanted to howl, too.
It was over now and this was my cross to bear. So in the light of the crescent moon — its swath of silver wavering like a spinning knife — I sunk to my knees, and with trembling hands, I began to dig.
It was a finger I found first, or what was left it. The sick slide of meat off bone rendering me speechless. Had it been that long? My own hands suddenly looked so young in comparison – the dirt under my nails like the echo of some youthful indiscretion. But here I was, older, somehow.
Then came the wrist, the elbow, the shoulder.
It was impossible to look – even the moon sunk behind the clouds, like a closed eye, taking with it the last vestiges of light. I put my hands into the rot and pulled. I put my hands into the rot and cried, a silent sob that rattled both ribcages. I wondered what she’d think, if she could see me now, clutching the broken bones against my chest…
Because she was able to leave this field, and I never was. I kept waking up with dirt in my bed. In my hair. In my mouth. I kept waking up screaming. So it was just us now. Me and the body. Or what was left of it. Of us.
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You have a real talent!
It's a shame that it comes from such pain though. Amazingly written words if I may say so.
The strength from injustice
Quote taken from The Rage To Overcome by Machine Head
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