Dead Letter.

Waiting for sleep is something I’ve always hated. From the time when I get into bed  to when I fall asleep, I hate the moon and how it illuminates the cracks on the wall’s plaster and my need to count them; those tiny lines that are pathways to the past.

Last night I thought of you after a long time.

I always thought you and I were like the Little Match Girl standing cold and hungry in the world with nothing precious to us except our hopes and fading dreams which we lit up one after the other trying not to think about how we were slowly running out of them, but, I realised last night that you and I were the matches that the other held. The heat and light we chased after, that we created when we threw ourselves against the world would have eventually turned from pretty sparks to  smoke that would disappear in the cold.
I’ve hated you all these years for leaving me alone,  but last night, I wondered if you were the one that ran out of matches first.
The winter never seems to end, but I don’t hate it anymore. I’ve grown to love it just as much as the rain you and I loved to look at. Maybe when I ran out of matches I turned into the Princess of Ice I always wanted to be for you and this never ending winter is where I thrive now; away from the spring you chased after.

I thought about you last night when I counted those cracks, but before sleep claimed me I hoped that where ever you are my love, you don’t need matches anymore to keep you warm.


2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. The Priestess of Q
    Nov 25, 2012 @ 00:46:47



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