i. he touches you and you tremble at the pressure, but you don’t really want him to stop. keep going, keep going, keep going. you wonder if he knows that your heart is bursting from your chest, that your blood is made of firecrackers.
ii. they take him from you and the explosion in your veins burns out, a tidal wave over a flame. you will not stop until you get him back. you will kill them all before you will let him go forever. ( he didn’t say he loved you, too, but you already know. )
iii. he asks you who you are and you have to stop and think. who are you? angry, royal, tired, lonely. you could say any of those, but instead you stick with “someone who loves you”. it’s a much kinder truth.
iv. the first time he told you he loved you was in the middle of a battle, a blaster in your hands and a wound at your shoulder. perhaps this is why he screams it at you in the middle of this one, the battle that rages inside your house. you scream it back, tears streaming down your cheeks. they don’t stop. even when he kisses you and you know he’s not leaving yet. even when you know that neither are you.
v. when he does leave in the aftermath of it all, when you’re both trying to stop the bleeding and shake the trauma, you do not beg him to stay. there is nothing left for him here. not even the woman he fell in love with. ( you are just a shell. )
vi. the last time you see him, he holds you against his chest and his heart is beating like yours was when he kissed you for the first time.
vii. you should have killed them all before you let him go forever. ( sometimes, it’s just not that easy. )
oh, princess, you were never drawn to “nice men”. ( s.g. )
