Cycle of Lost Love

I grew away from the true me that I had been for so long. I had been engulfed in a world of business suits, tuxedos, and designer dresses, a world full of board meetings, major signing contracts, and horrible business partners.

I went home to our old apartment one evening after work, and I could almost smell your long lost scent. Pictures of picnics in graveyards and paintings of us littered the living room walls, I remember the better days. The days of smiles, concerts, and love, so different things are now that you’re gone.

I got in the shower to wash the grime of the day off my skin. The knife scars shining palely against my alabaster skin. After we had wed I began to cut myself when in pain. The last cut was made the night you were lowered into the ground. That was when I had tried to carve out my broken heart. Since then I buried myself in my work because I knew you wanted me to move on, and I could not love another as I loved you.

As I toweled off I noticed that my hair was perfectly black once again, and my skin was glowing ghostly white, shining with moisture. I ran into our bedroom, throwing open the closet and reaching through the darkness into the very back. I pulled out my best black gown, the one you liked most, with the long flowing sleeves and the neckline almost bursting just above the top of the corset. Slipping into the gown and my favorite matching heels, I moved to the vanity and grabbed the eyeliner and lipstick. Drawing on my eyes and lips, darkening the white canvas of my face. With this done and my sharpest and most sacred dagger in my purse, I left quickly for your gravesite.

Arriving at 11:45p.m. Fifteen minutes before two years since you had been taken from my arms. I quickly left a note under a rose, and as the clock struck midnight, my dagger plunged into my heart. And I was reunited with you. I came to join you my love.

That was how she found me in the morning. She had worried when I had not returned from my usual journey to you. She had known that it was only a matter of time until I left her to join you but she had hoped the dream would not end so abruptly. Still she would carry on, as I had made her promise.

The image of me lying there on your grave, dagger in my breast, and my hand on that white rose, stained red with my blood would forever haunt her.

• A former member wrote: I hope that one day, when I die, someone out there will feel this way... As does everyone. Sad and beautiful, and thoroughly enjoyable.
  
  
• On Wednesday, April 16, 2003, Sky Singer (203) wrote:
  
  ...so touching.... i do not blame her for taking her life...... this reminds me of a Romeo-and-Juliet kind of death... beautiful, beautiful, beautiful poem
  
  
• On Tuesday, February 18, 2003, Rachel (306) wrote:
  
  Beautiful.
  
  
• On Tuesday, February 18, 2003, nonhero_until_death (158) wrote:
  
  Dark. Enjoyable. I love how you represent the anguish of losing your lover.
  
  
• On Thursday, February 20, 2003, Kytin (16) wrote:
  
  Thank you very much. I was kinda depressed and the words were in the pen just waiting for a hand to allow them to come out.
  
  
• On Tuesday, February 18, 2003, Kytin (16) wrote:
  
  This was a late night train of thought. I hope you enjoy it.