My pillows are stained with the scent of you and powder blush. Back in Paris, you once told me I looked like a rose covered in frost when my face was bare and ready for slumber. In rare occasions you look at me without powders and shimmer on and I can always feel how your eyes stare for a long time without blinking trying to find the truth amongst all the mirages but darling mine, I am nothing but fairytales and tragedy in the shape of a boy who loves you and yearns for your touch.
All these memories flood me with such passionate rapture and when I least expect it, I must stop and rest, rest because this feeling of need, this burning sensation of missing & wanting you more than anything in my life, leeches off all of my energy. You’ve told me a thousand times “you brought me life when everything was dead around me” yet I can’t help but feel empty and consumed by your desire to outlive your fears.
I remember everything, darling, I am a secret romantic machine recording every night, every kiss, the way you hold a napkin, the imaginary print of your lips on a drinking cup, your eyes when they are filled with emotion, the way they roll back during lovemaking. I remember your hands tracing letters on my hips, you spelled “haunted” when I wanted you to spell “loved”. I remember the things you say as if they were a promise I vowed never to forget, I remember the desperation in your eyes, the dark ring of your lips kissing my flesh, my hands wrapped around your boy parts and the once-violet-then-maroon tiny vampire marks of your teeth on my thighs, I remember the way you slide and moan, the way your arms trap me into an insanely divine core of tangled limbs, blooming flesh and pleasure. I remember everything….
Some days, as I spend my time dreaming with the landmarks of our story, my head starts spinning like it usually does after I had too many glasses of champagne. there is a physical side to our love I’ve never been able to escape, I am a dark passage written by your hands, a wildflower turned into an opulent lily who won’t stop bleeding nectar and honey. If indeed death exists, may it come from your hands darling, gash me into scarlet pools of joy and sorrow and let me fade away into memories of a love that shall forever outlive my pale body.
Haunt me, keep me, kiss me, steal from me, make me blush in ecstasy, bleed me dry.
(illustration by Eveline Tarunadjaja)