nothing else but my heart's desire [COLLECTION] | FINISHED

When love has no end - ORIGINAL PROSE

A room in the city, where the light bulb hangs overhead, as I write my life down upon page after page, waiting for your name to appear on my phone screen, waking moments before your phone call, as if my body has become attuned to your ways, only thinking it necessary to call my line in the dead of night, in the dark, hidden away, only to be discarded when I am no longer any use to you. Did I matter? All I got from those months of uncertainty was years worth of pain moulded into romantic rhythm and rhyme, as I denied my pain only to others, as I searched for you in every room I found myself in, as I chased ghosts and memories round every corner, down every street, until no more, it was all no more, not worth the penny to trade for a pound of flesh, not worth the pain to trade for words which, in the way words do, are both seemingly full of meaning and meaningless, oh so terribly meaningless. I had hoped for something better, had been prepared to give my all, but it was not enough, as love had been discarded once more in the way love does, in the way hatred and anger become what was, and now, as they always are, become what is. I dreamed of you, you still pop up in these artificial memories my mind has conjured up, and I felt so guilty for it all, so terribly guilty, and what for? Is it just how women are to be? Are we not borne to be princess and dragon? Beauty and beast? I wish to allow my feminine rage to burn cities to the ground, for others to feel the pain of betrayal which has been there all this time, as it was the gift, my only gift, from my mother, and her mother before her, as women of this world where we are only allowed to think and feel according to that of our male counterparts, to fall in line with current fashion and aesthetics, to be the scorned woman who cries but never yells at injustice, or face the judgement of those who hold all the power to condemn us. A room in the city, where my self resides, it is the past and present, the room where my life began and ended, and now I merely live this hollow existence, for you were my life, he who has no distinct features, only a face as devilishly handsome as I recall, who allowed me to fall, hoping he'd catch me - your grin so sinister, your eyes like serpent's. Trickster you are, yet so kind it hurts, I wish to return to that room, to a time cut short. Our love story never had a fulfilling end, and I'll carry that pain with me until the end.