I know this is mainly for poetry, but I needed an outlet to begin healing again, I apologize for this.



To my formally beloved,

I once thought what heaven was. It was you, beside me, laughing, crying, playing, loving. It was that feeling of no longer being alone in this cruel world. Someone to talk to about everything and nothing at all. It was the feeling of the delicate rythmn of your chest agaisnt me as we slept together. It was the way my spirits soared higher than the stars when you entered the room.

But I was wrong.

It seems I have found out what hell is like instead, inside me.
I all to well know hell, for that is where my soul and heart have been dwelling for the last 4 months of my life. I will share to you what it is, but not to try and have you feel sorry for me, to come back to me. Not to frighten you away from all others who wish to love you. I do this only because I need to, to start to release myself from its all to painfull grasp.

Hell starts out as that, cruel. For me it started when I left my homeland and journeyed here to begin anew. New friends, new home, new clothes and a new love, which I thought was heaven.
The feeling inside was so good, so real I could taste it, touch it, smell it, love it. I even began to forget about my family past and actually begin to grasp of a family future, one with you at my side.

But that was to make my suffering even worse.

Right now, hell is this to me: I can feel my heartbeat, but the feel is spectral, a phantom of what was there a short while ago. It is smelling the wind and the faint aroma of your hair in it, wafting gently along the currents. It is remembering every curvature of you face, being to trace it at night, eyes closed and getting even the smallest detail right. But yet never being able to touch your face again. Hell is waking up in the middle of the night hearing you wimper from a nightmare, feeling your breathe against the back of my neck, the warmth of your body next to mine, then turning and only finding empty air. It is the heartache that I feel each time I put on some clothes which you got me, so bad it is that I have burried them in the first place where we layed back and watched the stars. It is the pain I endure as each grain of sand forever is lost in the hourglass of time that I must realize your no longer mine.

Penned by my hand on the 24th of Miraman, in the year 255 AF.