There's a beautiful violence dying on the wind tonight; and a mournful solace glowing in the violet twilight. His eyes meet my own, and I can't help but shiver. Though the wind is warm, there is ice in those pale moonlit orbs.
I feel my transgressions like fire on my arms, as if each has been laid bare; like a scar carved upon my flesh for him to judge. I can almost feel his thoughts, his curses, his wounded cries of injustice. I can taste his longing and his rage, like bitter pith carved from his soul.
I close my eyes against the tears and he knows then to be silent. I'd swear that I can feel him shaking next to me in the darkness, and I know then that he is crying. He is trying desperately to be brave in the face of his world crashing down around him.
I breathe in deeply; the scent of fresh cut grass brings back happy memories that do not belong in this desperate hour. They are memories of sweet kisses under the oak tree where we once carved our names, and memories of picnics in the shade with fresh strawberry jam.
I stand without looking down at him. He doesn't move. He lets me walk away. And while I don't look back, I can feel him staring after me; unsure whether to get up and follow or let me go. It is my own guilt that is eating away at my insides; like a worm digging its way through a rotten apple core.
I know he hopes that I'll come back. I can almost hear his melodic voice praying inside my head; and my resolve begins to crack. How am I supposed to live with what I've done? How am I supposed to look into his beautiful face every day, knowing that I don't deserve him?
In this beautiful violence I surrendered, when I left my love sitting by the old oak tree where we shared our first kiss. The mournful solace has taken flight. Like the beautiful shades of twilight I have bowed my head to the powerful coming of the night. I can't even meet my own reflection these days.