GUYS. I’ll tag with appropriate trigger warnings, as always, but just a heads up, this next post is tw: rape.
You were the neatest fuel my fountain pen ever burned, the smoothest whiskey I ever tasted, and if you hadn’t been such a beautiful muse I would have tossed you aside long ago like the people who hankered after me, no more than children really. You weren’t like that though, you were so easy to read, the words poured from my lips like nectar as I whispered them onto the page, swirling as I wrote faster than ever, and it felt more right than anything had in a long time, but I feel that I owe you an explanation. Though you didn’t really hurt me, it’s imperative that I keep picking the tiny wound you made so it doesn’t heal, that I keep treading on the little bruise you left, because if I don’t keep roasting myself on the spit of your absence, the ink in my pen will run out, the magic will dry up and all hell might break loose. I want you to know that though I may write as though you broke me, because it’s more dramatic, more romantic, the reality is that you made a tiny crack, I saw the opportunity and stamped on it, because in pain there’s a divine freedom, a glorious moment of realisation that nothing compares to the absolute agony and ecstasy of feeling searing pain and having the ability to pour it out absolutely, as if I were a vessel. I have ultimate control, I can make pain in me and release it as words, and it’s such a heady, black magic to wield, intoxicating every time you do it right. It’s like a drug where the price is hurting yourself, trusting that you’ll heal just as easily, and until you get the balance right, you’re playing with fire, I almost died before because I didn’t trust myself to heal, but now I am God. I can make words dance for me, I can make them howl at the moon like dogs in heat, I can make them hammer under people’s skin, sweet and sore, so I’m writing to thank you because I am queen, for real this time, and you can remember me as the redhead in the white dress dancing the cobbled streets of her kingdom with people made of tastes and colours, because it only took one spark to set my pen free at last, and I’m so glad it was yours.