The Diary of a Fallen Girl

stardust & broken glass

I believe he is like broken glass and stardust, the kind that is irresistible and beautiful. My hands are stained red from his words, but I cannot let go. I believe he makes the pain feel worthwhile, but I know he shall never be mine.

Isn't it funny, how my whole world could revolve around his existence, but his revolves around the universe and moons far away. Maybe it's his gravity that I cannot fight, but something keeps me close.

Maybe I am drawn to danger, for love becomes heartbreak, and lust becomes destruction. It's the broken glass in my wrists and the stardust in his veins, and it is painful.

I believe he is one of a kind, one of the kind that isn't mine. Its unfortunate to know that my suffering will draw to no finish, because I will never experience the feel of his skin on mine and the satisfaction of my hands skimming places where they wish to be.

I believe that if I were to touch him, everything he is would stain and drip, and he would never be the same. I don't know if the satisfaction of love is enough reason to destroy another, but god damn, his soul makes morality difficult.

I believe I am a just speck to him against his universe of colors and emotions, and maybe, this is the only way it is supposed to be. His existence is one that shall affect others, while never varying.

I am but a mere passerby, longing for the hands that will never be mine. I am an observer, falling in love with the way he falls in love with others.

I am simply bones, for the dead cannot hurt. He is skin and flesh, so I shall not touch him in fear of draining the blood from his veins and stripping the life from his soul.

I am but a ghost.