“I’m writing you letters. I want you to remember the things that I remember. I want you to feel what I felt.” –Chelsea Wolfe
Fiction. Based on a True Desperation.
By Bry LeBerthon
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
you want to know what you did wrong,
but would it even matter?
you will never be perfect in anyone’s eyes,
and her eyes are no different.
even if her eyes were still on me.
you wish she knew that if she told you,
ripped your own heart from your chest,
spat and stomped on it and told you how to change,
you would try to fix yourself.
it probably wouldnt fix ‘us’.
do you even want ‘us’?
what did you prefer- her, or the idea of her? her heart, or your heart longing for it?
you love her, but what if you could have loved her more completely?
you are desperate, and yearning,
and terrifying thoughts in the back of your head swell and congeal,
ugly and dark and all too real-
what if what you did wrong was loving her?
you held her too tight, to the point of breaking,
she pulled and you pushed,
and she is a dove, bright and pure and beautiful,
and you are a cage, gilded but ever so small.
the more you reach, the faster she flies,
and you are both specks on the horizon’s edge.