Je n'aimais pas moins; j'aimais plus. Mais le poids de l'amour, comme celui d'un bras tendrement posé au travers d'une poitrine, devenait peu à peu lourd à porter. I did not love less; indeed I loved more. But the weight of love, like that of an arm thrown tenderly across a chest, becomes little by little too heavy to bear.
Amber threads of silk surround me and cling to my clothes, as I reach for more of them with my right hand and shove my face into my left, as if to protect my brain from the daggers being jabbed into my amygdala by essays, reports, and the ever-looming threat of exams that promise to ruin my life should I pen a comma out of place. I want to stop and maybe persue that which I have learned has a lovely chemical property of reacting with tears to create endorphins, but there is no place for emotion in a system rife with sciences and maths and that spits on beauty. Although I have long studied the properties of tears, I have not done the same to my brain in ways that don't pertain to its anatomy, and thus the liquid seeps from my eyes inadvertently, smudging the word pleurer while I continue to conjugate my group one verbs.
We Barely* posted a quote
November 5, 2014 12:02am UTC
Je pleure quand tu es parti trop longtemps, Tu me manque Chaque seconde de chaque minute, Chaque miniute de chaque heure, Chaque heure de chaque jour I cry when you're gone for too long, I miss you, Every second of every minute, Every minute of every hour, Every hour of every day. Don't make me regret this...