Lovesick

07 | hiraeth

07

hiraeth

a homesickness for a home in which you cannot return to, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past

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7:01 PM

I bled.

A romance with him involved spilled
blood and dark scars.

I could tell to myself to just ease, shrug it off, hoping it could shake the worry away.

The blood was nowhere near stopping, it continued, ran, streamed without no red light.

He walked into the room, saw me crying, laid open in the bed.

He cupped my cheeks and slowly inched his mouth on mine, without further ado, I kissed back.

I felt that the blood was still veining out, like a sewer at a rainy day. It was unstoppable, a force of red, a stigma of hurt.

I wonder why it didn't stop. Still kissing him. And a thought came into my mind.

Being with him is a bloodbath. It will never stop, and just endure. Until I don't let go of him, it will always retain its gush; a continuation, a perduration of feelings lost in maelstrom. A resistance in the system.

Being with him will constantly be bloody—a viking of red, hot emotions. Being with will continually be sanguinary—a bloodthirst for moments, for pain and love to make bloodshed.

What flows in my bloodstream is his darkness and what circulates in his kin is my light.