#thoughtcatalogue

“It is She Who Lingers—a melancholy melody of promises, prancing around my worn-out shoulders. A living reminder of what lies at my own rightful atonement.“

At first she arose from my dreams, starry-eyed. At her own funeral, she reminded me of how the sun had to set—to give way for constellations to light our own way home. At first there were calm waters, until torrential waves of our once loving memories raged through; washing me again into the blackness of the merciless sea.

Since then I’ve yet to mend myself, piece-by-piece. Since then she eagerly follows me—waiting, like a shadow in perpetuity.

It was in early April that I first saw her, drenched in a tar-like veil, with yellow eyes piercing what little warmth had left in my soul. Zepplins blot out the sky, whistling and wandering past floating fortresses that dwell above our heads.

I breathe her in, and the clouds reveal moonbeams shining down to the grass that sink between my toes.

I keep her near, by my own design I let her stay alongside. At dawn she greets me with butterflies, at dusk she mellows the stars with a murder of crows. What little solace I have she keeps also to herself—as much as I willingly allow. I give her everything, yet the toll was as herculean as the sin I’ve yet to repent for. In my mundanity, I recite a sonnet in her favor; a totem to grace her memory.

“It is She who is there in silent mornings as I awake.

It is She who grips my fingers, like amaranthine glass that is heavy on my marrows.

Across this table, it is She who dines with me, having conversations with my unkempt mind.

Even in the clearest and brightest day, it is She who walks beside me, dragging the weight of my feet.

In every sip of nightshade, it is She who moves betwixt to grasp me ever closer.

It is She who is always looking over, past what my eyes could see.“

It is She Who Lingers—this beautiful scar that I will forever keep. Tattered lines that creep within my skin and into the bare recesses of my mind, reminding me of what I’ve ruined, and what I’ve lost. This heavy cross that I will bear until the day life breathes out of my lungs.

I then see afterimages of her throughout every corner we’ve been. Quiet specters emanating from the places we frequent, tirelessly making paces towards and against me. Now I live two lives, both in the past and the present, with hours passing like eons. I’ve now earned brittle bones yet she remained gracefully youthful. Barbed thorns and serrated steel draw closer to my skin, perplexing my body, whilst she remains everlasting. Violent quakes shake the ground leagues across from what serenity she offers.

I begrudgingly tread back to deny her but this earthen crypt disallows me to take her back. The many faces of She Who Lingers coax me deep within her warm mantle. I then consciously follow her into the familiar abyss. Endless visions come to grasp my eye-sockets in blinding fury. In this accursed venture, the land begins to shift around me into planes unknowing. My resolve begins to falter, and my faith dims into the darkness. Slowly the letters of my name seem to lose their way back home. Slowly my blood begins to ember with stalwart rage. I see her once more, and something bellows from my loins to the back of my throat. I lock my eyes into hers, and all the thoughts came pouring in…

“I despised you—with a passion that scalded every breath I take; burning the compartments of my entirety, setting ablaze my once quiet soul. How much more than a hundred searing spears should one man take? How much more should I flay away into this mindless solitude? All I’ve known now is bitter strife and anguish. Alas these cold hands beseech me. Yet how can I be in hell when you are still in my heart?”

She stands across the hall silent, with her eyes slowly coursing among my own. Her visage echoes among the grave of our former memories. Underneath this lividity, I’ve then found myself fixated on her aura, her silhouette, and in every singular, minuscule thing that resembles even the most rudimentary being of her. Down to her atoms I find myself longing for her—every snippet, morsel, crevice, and crease. The wrinkle of her nose, the edges of her jawline, the curves of her shoulders, her smile everlasting; so infectious yet so sincere. Beneath my short-lived belligerence, I continue to see her in all living things.

I now see that the many faces of She Who Lingers etch the many faces of my friends and family. Lest I forget they also carry a part of her, as she does wholly more in me. They all wear a welcoming grin, and a frightening farewell—that sets a tune to harrowing solitude. The hand that bears my skin, sinks into deeper layers I couldn’t let go. This toil that I’ve caused upon me leeches like a dagger into my soul. She harkens close, showing me the aching viscera from her tell-tale heart. There it dawned on me, a thorn with my name, burned into her wailing agony. Our love drew blood like a double-edged sword. Little did I know, I also linger on her behalf.

I then came back to that same funeral, and wished for her to let me go—as I must do so for her. Crystalline tears sink beneath the soil where she now sleeps. She lingers no more. The fertile land must accept her as their own—as the sun must set, to reveal astra and aurora blanketing the sky.

I rest beside her grave. Reaching for her epitaph, I lie with my cheek embracing the dirt—dreaming of an eternal sunshine.