love your city

you know i believe in hell
January 4, 2011, 23:30
Filed under: floetry

and soon the train will be leaving. foreign foreheads leaning against the cold window watch their last interaction, inventing fairytales as to how these lovers got this way.

rien n’est plus belle que la vérité et rien n’est plus séduisant que l’avenir.
le futur est mieux que le présent. c’est plus beaux d’y penser car on ne sait pas encore ce que nous attend, he says to her as she stands in the open arches of the train door.

he is gazing up at her, silently professing the love of the ages to her welcoming eyes. she wants to memorize every moment, every instant and each word. make a movie to replay their final moments, like she could forget him even if she wanted to. she can’t stop touching his face, feeling the electricity pass from fingertip to cheek. she kisses him over and over, each with different intention. each one speaks a story, each begs for the future to hold a place for them. he frantically searches for ways to stop those tears from flowing over. impressed with the restraint of his own tears, he cannot help but wonder if she is being strong for his sake, knowing that seeing him crumble with kill her where she stands.

something like this could never happen on a warm night. the cold is biting, and it may have just frozen their tears. she watches his hot breath mixing with the bitter air. his short, quick breaths suggest struggle. she clutches to his chest, knowing the stroke of midnight is fast-approaching. she cannot feel his heartbeat and wonders if the body finds a way to put the heart into a coma when in peril. the pain will soon be piercing. for now, let us be numb, it says.

his stomach sinks when he tastes her salty lips. instantly he is transported to the warm, sandy days that left them seasoned. no longer remnants of atlantic kisses, he resents that he will never forget how her sadness tastes.
silence. a moment of calm before the storm.

without a word of warning, the doors slam shut. the sound of her scream is caught in her throat, the silence of which is muffled by her fists banging on the window. hot tears burn his face, his hands are bloodied from trying to pry open the doors and his legs know that soon they will no longer be able to outrun the train. his screaming is almost maniacal now, matched only by her deafening sobs. she cries not only for their stolen moment, not only for the brutality of finality, but also out of frustration at herself for needing it to come to this to believe him.


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Oh. My. God.

Comment by laura

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