I miss the comfort of being sad.
His touch, although bitter cold, left a warm aching trail in it's wake.
His caress a soft melody, his kiss, heavy sigh and sharp tongue bringing me to the edge, over and over again.
When I fell, he swept me off my feet and taught me how to soar.
When I feared the darkness, he taught me to see the stars within, to lay in the silence and see how wonderful this haunted place could be.
How beautiful, how destructive, how lovely I could be with his hand in mine...
I miss the comfort of being mad.
Her glowing eyes and Ill tempered fists banging against my bedroom wall.
The warmth of her fire, burning so sweetly against my numbing skin.
Her hand around my heart, squeezing tightly and yanking it from my empty chest.
Her harsh words on my tongue, her fire in my throat and her hands gripping tightly onto all my broken parts.
She taught me to wield my pain as a weapon, to turn all that anger into ammo and lay waste to anything that dared to stand in my way.
I miss the comfort of my past...
Every step forward is a step away from all I have ever known.
All of my pain is all I have ever been, I do not know who I am without it.
Without his icy hold.
Without her burning touch.
Without their arms holding me up, I fear I will have no where else to fall.
YOU ARE READING
The diary of Seth Alexander
Non-Fictionas the title suggests, this is legit going to be my diary. and yes, most diaries are supposed to be secret, but I have always been an open book. I like to pretend to be mysterious, but the people around me will all tell you that I am am someone who...
