𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓

L O S T

❝A lonely weary badger.❞

𝗗𝗲𝗰𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟰, 𝟭𝟵𝟵𝟱

Dear R.C.

I love the touch of your fingers.

In my hair, it still lingers. There is madness in your veins, and magic in your bloodline. These two go hand in hand. A silent scream is the last pleading my soul, I told you last week that my nightmares have stopped because I am too afraid to tell you that all of them wear your face now. I was in love before I even fully knew you. I remember your fingers on my spine in summer. I remember your hand on mine, I remember your scream of agony. I remember. I remember. I remember.

My soul looks like an empty hole as if all the earth's lights went out at once, pain and knife rhyme as easily as death and life. Death is even cruel lover. Love is a nightmare, don't call me a prophet, God doesn't want me to speak for you. Every time you touch me with your warm fingers I feel like praying. Your existence is love at it's finest.

[ extended summary inside ]
harry potter, g o b l e t o f f i r e
maxine stirling © 2019 ( original
version ) & © -- ( revamped ver.)