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Saturday, March 17, 2007

"He who loves the more is the inferior and must suffer."
spinning: it's not over by secondhand serenade.

She loved him so much that, where her heart should have been, she could only feel an aching breathlessness, a cavity which he alone could fill. A complicated pain, made up of jealousy and a despairing sense of loss and personal unworthiness, of a fear that her angel was being corrupted and another, deeper fear, which her conscious mind refused to formulate, a fear that there wasn't much further corruption to be done, that the angel was not as angelic as her love had made her assume.




12:56 AM