Melancholic Lovers

Destroy What Destroys You

Alaric Saltzman's PoV-

I've always read about heartbreak. But no damn quotation or verse taught me how nerve racking it could get. No scripture told me that there would be nights I cry so god damn hard that my body aches and I shake vigorously.

No quotations warned me that I would wish the best for you even though I loathe the thought of you wrapped in another mans arms. Arms that are not mine.

There was no verse explaining to me the emotion of perpetual darkness in my heart.

They say one mans trash is another mans treasure. But that's something I never quite understood because I was not trash I was worth more than that. And I fought for her, I fought with every power left in me. Just to call her mine. Just to call her Mrs Keke Saltzman.

I loved her. She chose him over me. And that's what I never understood that. She was the city, and he was this somewhat tsunami and that destroyed her.

Who the hell runs to tsunamis?

I looked outside my window and indulged myself into the silent patter of the rain. I sighed.

My perspective of 'rainy days' changed.

It used to be cuddling with the woman I cherished so tenderly, holding her so tightly as a sign that I will never let her go. Her Afro puff hair rubbing against my chest. And her heart beating in unison with mine as we drank our coffee listening to the tune of this rain, how perfect it was. How she brushed her hair away every time I looked at her. She stared eagerly at the rain. And I stared with delight at how beautiful she was, even when she wasn't trying to be.

Now all I see is the moon splitting in half and the stars crumbling, falling like fireworks into the sea. My heart grew bitter and my eyes swelled with pain and grief. This scene represented me. I watched as my world fell apart.

Isaac's pov-

Lighting new cigarettes, pouring more drinks, laying next to a half naked middle aged woman. So voluptuous.
I lit a blunt and clutched onto my drawing pad. I drew a woman who swam twelve oceans and drowned in every single one of them but each time the water seeped into her lungs and sharks started swimming in her bloodstream.

I flipped the page and blew a strand of hair out of my face as I puffed. I drew again.

She spat the Sharks up and continued swimming. Throughout her journey she uttered as she floated on top of the waves 'I will make it to the shore alive'

I gazed at the drawings and puffed out, the smoke danced seductively in the air and faded once they hovered around Kira's necklace she left a few days ago.

The lady turned around, and complimented the drawing and I would be lying if I said she wasn't sexy. Her slim thighs touched each other and her hair was a dark gloomy lustrous red. Her breast were angled proportionally. They stood up and they were average sized. Her skin was as soft as silk and her freckles were the exact number on each side of her cheeks.

Kira's breast weren't exactly 'up' they weren't saggy but they were somewhat low. She was far from a flat stomach. It's quite wide and stout. Sometimes she had razor bumps on her vagina and she wasn't at all big backed. Her thighs were thick yes, but that type of thick were its just fat. Her wrists are tired of being painted on every Sunday.

But I still adore her. I crave her hands around my neck. I've described her without any piece of clothing on. But to other guys it may seem like a big mess, a painting with ugly colours splashed upon it with no sympathy.

But I see her as a canvas, a clean white canvas. I don't splash my colours with no intention of making it beautiful. I carefully carve.

I asked the woman beside me who she loves and the responded with 'myself'

But when I ask Kira what she loves, she mentions all the soul refreshing things in the world, but never herself.