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On this night I fall to the floor. Just like I fell the last time it was this night and just like I will for always. I can never tell when this night will come. Just that it will. Because it always has, it has always since you and just like I fell for you that very first night, so I will continue to forever fall.
The bottle of wine beside me, the mirror in front of me so I can stare at the reflection I no longer recognise, the blade in my hand. These remain constant, as does the absence of you. The surroundings may change but no matter where I run I cannot escape this night. I may have lost you but your memory will never let me go.
The first real scar, that was for you. The others were practice, barely breaking my skin. But you had already been found, been taken and the connection with her ran deeper and stronger than anything I could achieve. A love thick enough that it was near tangible, visible enough that everyone knew you were for her and she for you. Yet you came to me anyway. And I was dragged in, somewhere in between and caught in that which bound you to her, tangled and desperate to cut myself free.
Only I didn’t want to be free; I only wanted to be free from her and alone with you. Bind you with something stronger, some dark love meant only for me and you. But when my blood ran through, you ran with it. Slowly at first, but with each time, as the blade sat easier between my fingers and sliced deeper into my flesh and the blood began to pour, so you flowed away. You had been with her in the blood but I ended up alone.
That’s what I think of on this night. The crimson wine stains the creases of my lips, and as the glaze is painted over my eyes I lose sight of the progress I have made since you. And I slip, and I fall, and it all runs again.
I wonder if you look at the angry purple reminders that cling still to your body as I do to the memory and think of me. But then I remember they were never for me. I was all for you, but you, you were for her and for others and for the voices that haunted you long before I ever appeared. Whispers that find their way to my ear tell me you’ve escaped the blood.
I haven’t.
In it I cling to you, and to all that you meant. To what I dreamt we would be. I thought you would kiss my wounded heart and in our brokenness together we would become whole. But instead I was left here alone in this night, with nothing but my pain and the blood and another scar crying out for you.
Copyright 2008 Alex Birtles
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