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  • Writer's pictureJulia Roscoe

Him


He falls from grace. And as I stand there watching, I think there is nothing more beautiful.

He who has taught me so much, who has shown me how lines are not blurred, but bent. He who has taken me to the deepest parts of myself and made me face the mesmerizing ugly truth. He has fallen.

This isn’t one of those cases where his light was too bright, so it had to be brief. No, his intensity wasn’t light, it was acid. It spread into the air like gas, intoxicating everything – his friends, family, workmates. Me. It grew in me like poison-ivy on a crystal clear marble. Spot-less me rejected the blade coming my way. I denied that kind of life, judged his judgmental self.

Until the wondering began.

How would life be if one embraced the waves and just let go. If we were our own suns, we could do anything. Be anything. I could be me.

Thus, perhaps, his blade was more like a seed. It grew from inside my heart, my soul and shaped my marble structure. I was corrupted.

Unlike the others, I wasn’t broken. He has molded me, not destroyed my essence. And that made all the difference. Because now I knew better and could act based on experience.

M morality was pure ethics. But I had become his.

So my heart twisted with wonder as I watched him collapse. He burned too fast. For he was as flammable as the rest of them. Me? I was still marble. And as his fire extinguished, I picked up his ashes and started building him from scratch.

1 commentaire


silviaroscoe
11 janv. 2022

Earth (rock), water, fire, air, aren't we all that and none of that?

J'aime
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