The Last Girl

I have no doubt he’ll hurt me. But he’ll do it on clean satin sheets in romantic lighting.

All I feel is sympathy for the devil who has crawled inside my heart, stealing my soul and my will from me.

I can’t kill him and he can’t keep me alive. The world we’ve lived in together is an illusion that can’t be maintained. The edges are fraying, curling away to reveal the harsh reality beneath. The lion and the lamb do not lie down together. It just can’t be.

I can’t hate him. All I feel is sympathy for the devil who has crawled inside my heart, stealing my soul and my will from me.

You can’t fall in love that fast. Not real love. Real love takes time, like a fine wine. Real love takes years. Not days. Not weeks.

Love burns past logic and all rational time lines to consume everything.

I wish I could hold the play (Romeo and Juliet) in my hands right now. I want to read it. I want to know that someone else has felt what I feel, even if that person never existed outside one man’s imagination.

I can’t hate you. We’re too connected. I can’t hate you without hating me.

There has to be some way this won’t end in tragedy. Why can’t Romeo and Juliet live happily ever after? It’s as if the universe won’t abide such a strong connection in such a disconnected world, as if our connection defies the natural order.

I thought I knew madness, but I didn’t know it before you.

His instinct is to kill me. His desire is to love me.

It’s a cruel joke of the universe that the one person who makes me come alive is himself dead. And evil. His very existence defies all moral laws and all known laws of physics.” ~Juliette

There is that moment when you first wake up and your dreams are still hovering like a fine mist in the air. For a tiny fragment of time you feel as though you could choose to live in either reality. In fact, in those seconds, as the dream replays in your mind, still so fresh, it seems more real, and this world seems unreal and fuzzy. I want to make the choice to go back to the dream, to live there.

It’s a cruel joke of the universe that the one person who makes me come alive is himself dead. And evil. His very existence defies all moral laws and all known laws of physics.

The way you respond to me. You’re poetry in motion.

He is the cornerstone of a defining life moment for me.

Before, time held no meaning with him. Now it’s everything. Every second of my existence feels like it will be the last.