Burning Letters

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I sat there with the letters in my hand, naked.
In my own bed, no longer in hers, I really do hate it.
As my anger took over me, dissolving me into the ink on these unsent letters, I light them.
I watch the letters burn, and the ink disappear, as the flames destroy them all.
I’m not sure you deserved these words, or the ink in my now dry veins.
I sit here, naked, now watching the dying letters twist and shrivel up into ash on the floor.
I tilt my head, I smile. These letters are me, and you. And as I burn them all, I hope I’ll be set free, from you.
I burn them naked, I burn them all, and I burn them to feel something. There’s more life in these dead flames.

The flames rise, and my tears draw out wet paths on my flushed cheeks, down my neck, over my breasts, my stomach, until they soak through the covers on my lap. I think about everything we were, everything we promised each other we would be. You left your fiery mark. You’ve branded me. Somehow, I belong to you now; maybe forever, maybe not.
Thank you for the passionate love we made. Thank you for the message you’ve written in me with the cruel, ruthless language of untamed desire and love. Ashes lie everywhere. It’s time to wake from your spell-bound fantasy, and deal with the cold reality you’ve left me with. Inkless, wordless, speechless, but still holding my pen.

With love,

Your writer.

 

– Contributed by L.

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