Between Coffee & Affection

nine ღ burn

DISCLAIMER: ALL WRITING IN ITALICS ARE CREDITED TO LIN-MANUEL MIRANDA WHO WROTE THEM. THE SONG IS CALLED BURN, AND CAN BE FOUND ON THE HAMILTON: AN AMERICAN MUSICAL SOUNDTRACK. ALL NON-ITALICIZED WRITING IS MY OWN STORY.

I saved every letter you wrote me
From the moment I read them
I knew you were mine
You said you were mine
I thought you were mine

She  had been cleaning out her closet as she did every spring. Getting rid  of clothes and shoes she didn't wear anymore; trying to put them to good  use. What she had forgotten was that the box was in there- the hat box  to be exact. What was in the hat box? All of his letters. She had hid  them from herself in hopes of starting a happier beginning. But today  was a day for cleaning. So she sat on the floor, and opened the dust  covered box, picked one up, and began to read.

Do you know what Angelica said
When we saw your first letter arrive?
She said 'Be careful with that one, love, he will do what it takes to survive.'

As  she wiped her tear stained cheeks, she had remembered what her best  friend had said when bringing the mail in that day. She had warned her.  All of them- her best friend, herself, and him- had all worked together;  along with Angelina's boyfriend. But her best friend had warned her,  and she hadn't listened. Look at where that lead her. Broken-hearted  laying on her floor with a hatbox, crying over a man who had never shown  her the deepest of love she deserved. What had she done to herself?

You and your words flooded my senses
Your sentences left me defenseless
You built me palaces out of paragraphs
You built cathedrals

It  wasn't the words he had shared with her verbally, but the words that he  had scribbled across the page that had torn her. His job, primarily  based on his writings, had taken him far and wide across the beautiful  places of the world. But unlike she, he became unfaithful, not realizing  the beautiful love he had waiting for him at home. For he had allowed  his selfish needs before her, and what was left of him?

I'm re-reading the letters you wrote me
I'm searching and scanning for answers
In every line
For some kind of sign
And when you were mine
The world seemed to
Burn, burn

She  had done this when everything first went downhill. She had re-read  every note and letter he had sent from places unheard of trying to find  some sort of hint as to where things went wrong. But each time she came  up dry and knew nothing more but the pain of her own heartbreak. Had he  really loved her at all?

You published the letters she wrote you
You told the whole world how you brought this girl in our bed
In clearing your name, you have ruined our lives
Do you know what Angelica said
When she read what you'd done?
She said, 'You have married an Icarus, he has flown too close to the sun.'

At  first she had thought that the letters he published in his novels were  fictional; only trying to add more to his story. But she had noticed the  immense similarities between himself and the man being written about.  The true definition of Icarus was of Greek mythology; Icarus escapes his  father, Daedalus with his artificial wings and soars too close to the  sun, and falls to his death with his over-confidence dooming over him. She  had truly fallen in love with an Icarus, and she was the sun. She was  left burning and his love for her was dead, with over-confidence in  himself.

You and your words, obsessed with your legacy
Your sentences border on senseless
And you are paranoid in every paragraph
How they perceive you
You, you, you

As  she read closer and closer to the end of them, she had realized the  spark died out, and all that was left was harsh and burning embers. The  embers were hers, he was the flame; without him she was nothing. But she  had realized she didn't need him. He was self-obsessed, selfish, and  only wanted to be remembered for himself. Not for her, who had been  selfless and hopelessly devoted to him from the beginning to the end.  She was reigniting her flame. But the flame was entirely hers this time.

I'm erasing myself from the narrative
Let future historians wonder how Eliza
Reacted when you broke her heart
You have torn it all apart
I'm watching it burn
Watching it burn

She  felt as if the world had spun upside down on its axis. Every small  piece of evidence she held at her fingertips, had gone unnoticed. The  small flicks of eyeshadow on the corners of the paper; the women's  perfume which wasn't hers when he had come home; or even the small mark  of lipstick still left on his sweater; the sweater she had loved and  worn. But that too, along with the memories would be burned. Everyone  else could figure out how she had moved on.

The world has no right to my heart
The world has no place in our bed
They don't get to know what I said
I'm burning the memories
Burning the letters that might have redeemed you
You forfeit all rights to my heart
You forfeit the place in our bed
You sleep in your office instead
With only the memories

Of when you were mine
I hope that you burn

She  finished reading the last letter with tears running down her face and a  bleeding in her heart. She sobbed and hiccuped for what felt like  hours. She screamed and yelled at the fact that she had wasted so much  time on someone who was worth not even the dust on the box which held  all of his meaningless words. As she regained composure, she stood up,  gathered everything in her hands, and brought it down to her basement  where the fire pit was; and before she lit the fire, she had placed a  single paper on the fire; that paper read, 'I hope you burn,' and she  lit the flame, and watched it burn.