Break up letter to a long term love

When I first met you, I practically jumped in to your arms, begging to be burnt. You were rough around the edges, chaotic and disinterested- all the things I needed you to be.

You were Monday to Sunday, never sleeping or dreaming; sometimes we forgot to eat, I was so high on your essence. You got in to my system, intravenous, incepting every pore on my body and running your mottled hands over me, day after day.

Those first heady years we were inseparable, it was hard to tell where you ended and I began. I threw myself in to everything you were- I couldn’t be away from you- I was intoxicated in a way I had never known. I wanted to be under your skin, find out things that no-one had ever discovered about you, be the one who lasted.

Then it starts; the slow, slow itch. The fly to swat.

It was little things, your constant drone, the way you never let me sleep; burnt out on drugs and alcohol. Tired of staying up until dawn every day, waking with nothing to hold on to, the death in frequency of joy. I told you I needed a break, some time to myself and you raged, grabbing me by the hand, pulling my arm out of its socket so hard I almost cried out. “Remember all the times we’ve had together”. “You’ve got a good thing going on here”. Even my friends couldn’t believe I would let you go. You shook me to the core and I lost certainty in myself. I guess that was one of your skills.

I ran that time, went around the world to get away from you but thought of little else. I itched to be with you all night, checking up on you, stalking you online and aching inside for the pieces of you that I no longer had within my grasp. My health started to improve, but I receded further in to a black hole, thinking about what I had lost. You called out to me a few times and I knew I had to come back to you, we were meant to be together, destined to last.

I loved seeing you again, we were fresh and new- it was like the first time all over again and I couldn’t believe how much I loved you. How could I have ever let you go? I wanted to burst just to be in your presence. Everything about you was familiar yet brand new. I wrapped myself up in your arms and rolled myself in to your core. But it didn’t last, it couldn’t.

London, I’ve given you so much and taken plenty from you. All those days and nights, the constant assault on the senses, the twilight hours which never darken or quiet. I’ve lived here, loved here, created and cried here, but it’s time for us both to move on.

I think you should consider it, I don’t think I can do this much longer.

You will always have a piece of my heart. x

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Dylan Thomas: Love in the Asylum

Love In the Asylum

A stranger has come
To share my room in the house not right in the head,
A girl mad as birds

Bolting the night of the door with her arm her plume.
Strait in the mazed bed
She deludes the heaven-proof house with entering clouds

Yet she deludes with walking the nightmarish room,
At large as the dead,
Or rides the imagined oceans of the male wards.

She has come possessed
Who admits the delusive light through the bouncing wall,
Possessed by the skies

She sleeps in the narrow trough yet she walks the dust
Yet raves at her will
On the madhouse boards worn thin by my walking tears.

And taken by light in her arms at long and dear last
I may without fail
Suffer the first vision that set fire to the stars.

Dylan Thomas

 

Favourites: Plath

The Rival

If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. 
You leave the same impression 
Of something beautiful, but annihilating. 
Both of you are great light borrowers. 
Her O-mouth grieves at the world; yours is unaffected, 

And your first gift is making stone out of everything. 
I wake to a mausoleum; you are here, 
Ticking your fingers on the marble table, looking for cigarettes, 
Spiteful as a woman, but not so nervous, 
And dying to say something unanswerable. 

The moon, too, abuses her subjects, 
But in the daytime she is ridiculous. 
Your dissatisfactions, on the other hand, 
Arrive through the mailslot with loving regularity, 
White and blank, expansive as carbon monoxide. 

No day is safe from news of you, 
Walking about in Africa maybe, but thinking of me.

Sylvia Plath :

Wedding Reading: August 2013

Love,
The knot in your stomach makes it hard to breathe
That morning half-light, in which bodies weave.
The happy accident, an unwritten tale,
The constant safety, your net when you fail.
A touch of the hand, a lingering smile,
Knowing every inch of the other’s profile.
Sunday mornings, papers and toast,
Alicia and Andy cooking a roast.
The undying light which burns in your heart,
Every day an adventure to start.

– Rhiannon Dance