Trapped

Dreaming

Enter: Mina West
June, 16, 2027, 12:34
Saint Mansfield, The Barracks

His smile, the way his pink lips curl at the ends dimples in his cheek appear.

The way his low, gruff voice rumbles throughout the closing space between us. I could feel his cool breath fanning my face smelling of nothing but cigarette smoke and pink lemonade.

The way his eyes were dark as they stared deep into my soul giving me chills and goosebumps.

My breathing was short and clipped as he continued to close in the air of isolation between us. He then ran his callous, rough hands over my arm leaving a tingling feel of faint fire, his hand trailing up.

His hands found their way to my tangled, dark hair, his gravelly voice rumbling in a whisper,

"Move not while my prayer's fate effect I take. Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purged."

His long lashes touched his cheeks as he closed his eyes. I hesitated before leaning in to say,

"Then have my lips the sin that they have took."

I lean in to taste sweet molasses and sugarcane as his lips molded mine. Running my hands through his curls, I relish the taste and pleasure of kissing him.

I relished in the love I felt for him. Love I felt for the man who had no name.

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I woke up feeling nothing more than the sweat on my face from the sweltering cell.

"Love isn't real," I mumbled, shifting my thin, beady blanket in my search for the tiniest bit of comfort on the stony bunk.

I laughed at the thought of my dream. How silly of my brain to actually compose a dream where love exists. I've known for a good while that Shakespeare was a liar.

In this world, love is viewed to be such a huge triumph of the heart; the beginning of the beginning of happiness. Love is seen to be this strong thing that's uncalculated and unarticulated.

It's seen as this huge thing that can overcome everything in this sad physical world. But when it comes down to the actual truth instead of what we'd like to think, its none of that.

Love can't cure cancer or end plagues. Love can't bring back the dead and love sure as hell can't overcome mental illness.

Love is dead and has been dead for eons and that is what I have come to terms with ever since I've killed my own love.

The Great Love is nothing but an illusion. That's all it is.

It makes you think for a good little eternity that a set of bones, a beating heart, and a pair of bright eyes can give you a reason to keep living in this sad world.

Its all a trick to keep you in the land of the suffering. And once you realize that you spend the rest of your life in institutionalization.

What a sad thing the truth of love is.
A terrible goddamn truth it is.