10 : kudoclasm

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Author's note: hope you guys like it! we're halfway through this story already ;)

[for Eiman, you served as an inspiration for me while writing this. I hope that whatever happens, you continue to write and change people's lives with your talent.]


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10 : kudoclasm

I have forgotten your eyes.

Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to

My vague memory of you. I live with pain

That is like a wound; if you touch me, you will

Make to me an irreperable harm.

Your caresses enfold me, like climbing

Vines on melancholy walls.

I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to

Glimpse you in every window.

Because of you, the heady perfumes of

Summer pain me; because of you, I again

Seek out the signs that precipitate desires:

Shooting stars, falling objects."

- Pablo Neruda


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kudoclasm (n):

Sometimes it feels like your life is flashing before your

eyes, but it's actually the opposite: you're thinking forward, to all the things you haven't done, the places you intend to visit, the goals you'll get around to


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"WHAT DOES IT FEEL LIKE WHEN you tore me apart?"

It was merely a question, a question that needed an answer to satiate my unease and to satiate the burning hole and the fathomless void that Braden had punctured deep inside of me. Although a part of me had marginally insisted to pardon even the crux of his actions, the reason behind it all was still beyond me as it is.

There was no denying the crevice in which he, himself, had fissured, the crevice that made me so circumspect of everyone's movement, of everyone's motives and most of all, of their own thoughts, especially the misleading ones. Above all, he made me question Conrad, even to the point that perhaps he had thought of me contrariwise.

Braden had unmistakably been taken aback as shock donned his eyes, his lips slowly parted, though no sound had been produced and his shoulders were taut with sheer overwrought.

All the while, I had thought he would've been susceptible to any kind of outburst, of anger and the like. I had similarly thought that the countenance he had been sporting was just misleading altogether. Though the contemplation still stood, I was beginning to consider that he was innocuous and that all iotas of menace had dissipated from him all these years.

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