soya
Words of the World
- Local time
- Today 1:38 AM
- Messages
- 14
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Hers
My Love,
How I have longed for your touch. As it stands, my appetite can no longer be satiated by blood and slaughter, and my weary eyes have become blind to the plight of the dying. Truly, the only thing that I can now see, as I give the gift of death to my enemies, is the haunting image of your beauty. Every night I remember your words, and the promises we desperately whispered to each other the day I departed. Now those same whispered words bless my dreams and curse my nightmares. I fear now that perhaps my memory of you is torturing me and driving me to the edge of some unreachable insanity. Oh, you would be disappointed in me, my love. For I find myself more and more now mistaking the acrid stench of blood and death for the beautiful aroma of your perfume. Today I found myself smiling as another one of my enemies fell before my feet—for I know that I am one death closer to seeing you again. Make no mistake. You are mine, my love, however far away. I promise to you that upon my return I will make you understand. I will have you feel the heat and desire for which I have held for you every day that we've been separated, this desperate fever that leads me further and further into madness. For you, my love, my desire shall destroy armies, kill kings, and slay Gods. My love is more than the pure and gentle memory that it once was. Now it is a burning, gaping hole in my chest, raw and unhemmed, with broken stitches that have been torn, resewn, and cruelly ripped open again. But, for you, no pain is unbearable. This war is far from over, but mark my words, I will return to you.
How I have longed for your touch. As it stands, my appetite can no longer be satiated by blood and slaughter, and my weary eyes have become blind to the plight of the dying. Truly, the only thing that I can now see, as I give the gift of death to my enemies, is the haunting image of your beauty. Every night I remember your words, and the promises we desperately whispered to each other the day I departed. Now those same whispered words bless my dreams and curse my nightmares. I fear now that perhaps my memory of you is torturing me and driving me to the edge of some unreachable insanity. Oh, you would be disappointed in me, my love. For I find myself more and more now mistaking the acrid stench of blood and death for the beautiful aroma of your perfume. Today I found myself smiling as another one of my enemies fell before my feet—for I know that I am one death closer to seeing you again. Make no mistake. You are mine, my love, however far away. I promise to you that upon my return I will make you understand. I will have you feel the heat and desire for which I have held for you every day that we've been separated, this desperate fever that leads me further and further into madness. For you, my love, my desire shall destroy armies, kill kings, and slay Gods. My love is more than the pure and gentle memory that it once was. Now it is a burning, gaping hole in my chest, raw and unhemmed, with broken stitches that have been torn, resewn, and cruelly ripped open again. But, for you, no pain is unbearable. This war is far from over, but mark my words, I will return to you.