by Sine Qua Non

I sit here and all I could think of is writing about you and me in metaphors and discreet bullshit, intended whimsical arrows to strike you in the heart, a sticky note of me too late for your memory. I will not surrender to the hour, will not give in to my brain telling my heart forget it, because I’ve been trying too hard and have lost too many times, lost too much. I am your silly lover, hopeless devotee, condemned, wounded, died and lived again. The resurrection is not my doing. I want to stay dead, I want to cross to the other side but your light keeps me lost in a limbo of wait. I want to stop and go on at the same time. You cannot save me and I cannot save myself. It is you who have been saved from danger. And you may not even know it. The hero is gone, her cape blocks out the sun and she is human again. There is no superpower, there is no flight, only an identity she has to hide. There is no need to worry, the world is as it should be for you. The wounds have been sustained. It will all heal.

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