Fiction. Based on a True Love Letter Unsent.
This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.
To whom it may concern,
I dig graves in my head. For every god I don’t believe in. Maybe they were people once, until their disciples made them divine.
Their stories are alive on the paper while they die in me. Maybe I killed them slowly and painfully because there was a day I loved them.
In the mourning, I’m crying for the graves I dug. The stones are book covers. It doesn’t matter if they were good or evil. They were their own.
Is it a curse all women must be under to suffer, a sadness only fit for a book of poetry. How our thoughts are etched on the delicate contemporary pages. And the gods we’ve killed.
It’s raining in this graveyard of my own design, evanescent water droplets. Tears and thunder. I love these autumn storms that honour the dead.
I dig graves in my head. For every love I have ever had. I feel the water and the dirt on my skin. There’s a peace here I cannot explain.