Third blog entry - Feelings, strange feelings

A week ago, someone who I thought I would never have to contact again, decided to contact me.

Until today, I hadn't given myself the time to feel, to rationalize my emotions, and empty my soul-less heart; letting these ghosts of the past enter inside of me, and finally truly fill my being with the overly known and familiar melancholy and tender grief for an undead concept.

As I usually do when my fears drown my essence, and tears melt off my logic, I fantasized. 

I saw myself holding a little box, a tiny wooden box. Intoxicatingly blissful sorrow-filled box.
I did not wish to open it, the melodies of heartsick lovers did not lure me in; it simply was on my hands.
Resting on me, cramping my bones and muscles, my weakly breathing hands. I let it fall, and my knees bent down in pure awe. 

The box crashed against the ground, the noise of it's fainting was astonishingly silent and explosive. 
I was the one to break, not the ticking box.

Inside, there I was again, small, powerless, my arms bending as my agonizing back and spine followed - and I crawled towards my doom: them, my dove.

I begged, I sobbed, I cried, and shrieked "Oh my love, oh my soul, don't let me go, oh please don't let me go, don't let me fade, do not let me fade" I curled my cramped fingers, tugging and burying my human claws onto their clothes and sickly pale cruel skin.

I closed the box, tomorrow I'll think of it again. Tomorrow I'll dream of them again.
Today is not for that pain.