fear disaster; tom riddle

3;

YOU WERE SOMETHING WORTH LOVING.

i think.

maybe.

i don't know.

i hoped that you would be— be the thing i loved. to be on my smile, to be on my tongue, to utter your name the way i utter a song.

i hoped i'd be that for you too— i hoped.

but hope isn't real, just a craving that you stain with cheesy inducing bullshit. the tasteless lines you read from stained pages of poetry and smile— as if you could ever have such a thing.

but you can't.

because love isn't real. its just a synthesis of lust and solitude in which you disguise the reality that you simply don't want to be alone.

thats what you told me,

and i believed you.

because you couldn't love tom, you wouldn't. and when the night fell past the silk sheets of tangled bodies and heavy breaths, and your arms surrender from its grip to my skin, i would always think...maybe you would, love me that is— but then you'd slip away, and the sheets, disarranged from where you once laid beside me would run cold— as if you were never there at all, as if i was sleeping with a ghost.

i find it humorous now though, the idea of sleeping beside the dead. isn't that what you're doing now tom? while you ponder your canon of misapprehensions, while your vision clouds with my irises and red stained lips as i grin at you.

do you regret it now? do you wish you kept that grip to me?

and perhaps you lamented the small diminutive commodity i solicited:

lie to me.

you were all along, i didn't know it then but you were— but all those secrets you hid behind those reticent kisses aren't quite what i meant. no, my desired prevaricate was adorned in the prepossessing silks of three particular words.

i (one)

love (two)

you (three)

don't they just roll off the tongue so pleasantly?

but you were always a stubborn thing, so sadistic, so grave and staid. but yet, all the same, i somehow saw that glimmer when i pleaded to you— that glimmer that in the waves of ichor and diablerie maybe, just maybe, you wanted to say it— and you didn't want it to be a lie.

nonetheless, i settled, like i always do. i was your pianist, your commender, your friend, your warm body on cold nights.

that is until i wasn't.

until i was your victim.

but despite it all tom, while i watch you drown in the pools of thick hot blood that you effortlessly spill, i see that glimmer still.

you should've just lied,

it would've saved you from hell,

it would've saved you from me.