absolutionless

[absolutionless]

Even in your absence, I am full of you.

Full of thought (dream-weft; conscious-stream; currents that navigate toward somewhere full, full; of you).

Full of love (heart-song; sacrificed-soul; an idol not false, to love as this is to be as once was; sacrilegious. religion is full, full; of you.)

Full of hunger (ghost-kiss, lip-snared; inured to your leaving. Your absence makes the room full, full, full; of you; of you; of you; of you; of you.)

I am full of you; the room is you.

©absolutionless

[absolutionless]

the living of spring; its warmth; its birdsong; its light has grief-stricken the mold in my soul. the fungal-spore have ceased in their production. it is a beautiful thing, a beautiful reminder of the essence of life.

©absolutionless

[absolutionless]

i mourn the forgotten art. our souls tempest manifest on page; canvas; voiced-birdsong or rendered two-dimensional on screen. it is worse than these pieces having never existed, it is that they do. they exist in spatial, tangible reality - somewhere, far off; they are forgotten, fragments of person, their handprint in the sand of the world erased.

©absolutionless

[absolutionless]

they consider winter to be when everything is dead, but I think otherwise. winter is slumber. look to the fog, the earth-bound mist, to the haziness, to the indeterminable outlines, curvature, twist of bone-marrow bark. winter is Earth; dreamwoken.

©absolutionless

[absolutionless]

if one does not ponder on one's own virtue, i find that sickening. i obsess over my virtue, over the purity of my soul. it sits in my throat like bile; the thought of it. love is the truest pinnacle of my philosophy.

i obsess over love.

love is sacrifice. sacrifice; virtue.

©absolutionless

[absolutionless]

I am terribly afraid of each day, and each new day, and what each new day is. Because, I feel like I am forever running out of time.

I am suffocating, like the air molecules are running away from me, and mocking me for not keeping up, and all I do is watch them go.

That's what drowning is; H2O running into a sunset you'll never see.

©absolutionless.

[absolutionless]

I have been far worse than simply wounded by love, I have had the heart gripped by lead-laced fingertips, and my blood is poisoned with the act of this servitude, this adoration manifest as blight upon my anatomy itself.

I am ruinous in its wake.

©absolutionless

[absolutionless]

—Prologue—

The Darkness, the Girl and the Light

Nightfall arrived on the doorstep of a newly wintry evening with unannounced ferocity. A breed of night so affluent with its nothingness, that it denied freckled-starlight to puncture through. Moonshine was devoured, and the sky had shed; maturing into a peculiar hue of saturated, resonant navy. Faded pigment made blackest shade. Upon Ettinor this felled darkness came, and it was the waxen steward; domesticated sunspots, lured into ignition against it. This ensemble of chittering flame was given chorus, their voices risen like pale moondust. North of Ettinor was a dominion of past-loved land known as Whirerm. Its landscape rose at frayed edges, forming a natural impasse, wherein a valley, where most of Whirerm’s settlements were seated quite prettily between the cloud-breasted Phylin Mountains. Pressed upon the teat of the north-most mountain was a small city of it’s time, where dwelt eleven-thousand bodies, and ten thousand souls.

Forgotten to most but, remembered as Xethrok. Winds came sharp, flesh-piercing with their frost, particularly during the winter months as these, and aside from the manor-house of the Nekir family, witness up-high to all these suffering from the protection one of the two walls that wrapped it’s arms around Xethrok, from edge-to-path, all Xethrokian homes retained this marking of dusk, cold, darkened shells. Underneath the manor, overflowing in golden light seeping out of almost every pore as the solitary star in the night sky, an ember struggled sustained living in the stables, unnoticed by the Xethrokians laid in bid to rest. A single candle grew head of flame in this Xethrokian stable, under the embrace of a young woman.

A girl in the twilight-autumn of life, of surely exquisitely embezzled beauty, wrought from behind her eyes, that caused the heart to burn with mechanical invigoration and turn wildfire-like onto the world; the night had imprinted itself upon her, her skin prided the same endlessness as the night’s sky, and yet when fragmented candlelight fell on her, she was luminous.

Alongside her, a boy – and no older than the noun 'boy' could afford, helped with what muscle his body could justify. Frail, yet not so much that his tongue lacked steadiness. He never quite knew when it was time for him to speak less, it seemed as though he were incapable of enacting this thought, had it ever occurred. This was becoming of such an age, of vocal interest and abstinent silence.

To her, the topic was done, stagnant in its inevitability. Prevailing and withstanding her bleak responses, the boy was too incessant for chat, and she gave herself reconsideration of their tenuous relationship.

- an excerpt from the book I'm writing.

©absolutionless

[absolutionless]

It is when beauty itself becomes a sin that I fear we have done more penance than the human soul may afford.

©absolutionless

[absolutionless]

—I think it's terrible. It's like we're bleeding time.

©absolutionless

[absolutionless]

Sometimes, you'd just like someone to say "i know you have suffered. i see you", and that would be enough.

[absolutionless]

Mother weeps. She cries out at the world. We cannot help.

[absolutionless]

I mustn't be in your company for long, you see. I could drown myself with my intoxication of you, if only time would allow.

[absolutionless]

Am I not of such divine beauty that it makes me nigh reverent?

[absolutionless]

I am quite lonely, my dear. Starlight warms my skin, inside I am cold.

[absolutionless]

—oh, but how can you not see? I must be adored! If I am not adored, then I am forgotten. What is worse in this world than to slip by in the mind? What ills the soul more than to be unnoticed?

[absolutionless]

I am incapable of feeling loved by anyone. I crusade for that which is untenable in my own heart.