All the little deaths and beautiful scars- erroneouschoices

Holding on tightly to the hand written letter, I looked out at the growing world and the birds were silent, watching too maybe. As my heart pounded a little in anticipation, I read the script on the outer part of the fold. “Read me gently” in his crazy penmanship that I remembered immediately. Sort of like the way he spoke, rough around the edges but his vowels were crafted to perfection.

I smiled at the first few sentences, “Hey love, I know this finds you beautiful but I hope this finds you well too. Do you remember when I told you that one day I’m going to finally have enough money to buy my house on a mountain where I can live peacefully alone? That I’d have an enormous library and someone that comes once a month with supplies and more books. There would be a little cot near the cliff where I can drink, and smoke, and read, and look down at some sad little village trying to make unendable ends meet. I’ll have paper so I can write to my hearts content. Maybe some can visit, but stays are only short. People taint you. Well, they taint me, and I bleed when I’m not in my own colors. Well…. I’m there kid, I’m there.”

We had spent so many long nights where nothing made sense but our hearts wouldn’t stop talking. And in the end we decide we had to kill Netflix or concluded that the trees only whispered and then we’d muse at what the world would be like if they only shouted. Once he told me he was about to make ribbons out of my dress with his teeth as my heart melted around his soul. This man, he was a love affair between a word and the meaning it masks, how the word helps the world stay hidden.

The sky is a bruise and coffee is godly. I wouldn’t ever say I didn’t miss him, even the birds were quiet for a bit while I wished him. But we had our time and now he has his dream. I love my letter, I put it to my face and inhaled deeply. Maybe it was my imagination but I smelled him. I kissed his words lightly leaving a tiny hue of pink over them.

The sky is a tempest and the coffee is divine. I took out my pen and wrote a few simple words, took a deep breath as I folded it and made it ready to send. Life’s like this. And people, well I’ll be damned if people that touched my thighs and my life hadn’t left indelible marks inside my heart.

Id love to be a bird on his shoulder and watch him smile as he read my note. “I have words in me that are in the shape of you.”

Read more at Choices in Error

12 thoughts on “All the little deaths and beautiful scars- erroneouschoices

  1. There is a marrow deep sense of longing, but it feels somehow diminished, and yet strengthened at the same time, by their mutual love of the written word. They could’ve been Joan Didion and John Gregory Dunne.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. The sky, and coffee, and your words, are all a divine tempest, storming the longing in word drops and warming the heart in sips nearly too hot to take. But you take them anyway, EC. The other side of the cup is life and that’s all that matters.

    I don’t know if you can swear on this aspect of the collective juggernaut, but this was fucking amazing. One of my favorites of all your prosetries, ever.

    Liked by 1 person

      • Everything inside my became hot and ice cold all at once, heart pining a bit and overly anxious reading your anonymous comment. The writer of clearly knew me.
        I’m so so so glad you left the other one so I could breathe a sigh of relief haha.
        And your comment was beautiful by the way. So so kind of you. 🙂


      • It’s the first thing I thought when I saw “anonymous”… I need to tell her who I am. 😉
        Your write was amazing. I loved it.

        Liked by 1 person

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