"Orpheus

You’re nineteen and you’re in love and you feel like it’s turned your ribs into an accordion.

Two years ago you were seventeen and in love and felt like your ribs were a prison, felt like your heart screamed its protest with every beat, felt like it was punching itself every time it bothered to move your blood forward, move your body forward, away from him.

A year ago you were eighteen and in love and your ribs felt like they weren’t your own, weren’t even there, were on your father’s plate and in your father’s mouth picking his teeth clean.

Three years ago he was an angel grinning like he was about to lift you off the ground on invisible wings, higher than you’ve ever known.

Two years ago he was an angel staring at you with wide wet eyes, praying for you to save yourself.

A year ago he was a broken boy before you, wings burnt black, voice singed hoarse, “Don’t do this.”

Yesterday he was an angel again, eyes burning with a fire so hot it could freeze you in place forever, and you’d be okay with that, okay with this angel boy and his devil eyes keeping you in one piece.

You’re nineteen and in love and yesterday you felt like every inhale and exhale sent ice crystals scattering through your ribs, picking notes along your bones like plucking sounds off guitar strings.

You felt like every sound you made yesterday was music, because every noise was answered by one of his, your breath and his breath pushing against each other in the dark, the wet warm place between your mouths sacred and speechless and secret, everything and nothing crowded into that one spot.

Today he is huddled in a pile of blankets on your bed and his flesh stinks and his voice is torn, when it comes, and he shirks away from your touch, disappears from between your fingers as if he were made of mist.

Today your ribs are still an instrument, just out of tune.

You’re nineteen and your angel is in hell and you would carry him on your back to the surface, if you could.

You’re nineteen and your angel is tottering behind you without sound and if you look back, if you allow yourself to think for a second, that he’s not coming up with you, you know he will fall to the black.

You stick a hand back behind you, feel mist, feel trust, and trudge forward to the light." (x)

Ilyen tehetséget akarok. Így akarok tudni írni. Hogy aki olvassa, bele akarjon halni.