You are my (tragic flaw)

"I'll watch over you,"

He barely spoke, he breathed. And on his breath were a thousand lies that he thought she needed to hear. And then there was anger, and loneliness, and fear.

"Oho!" she laughed, kissing his cheek, kissing his brow, kissing his temple. All she was able to do, lately, was kiss him. He joked that had he known its effect on her, he would have gotten himself sick a long time ago. To that, she could only smile. She couldn't possibly tell him that her memories will soon be his only existence; that she only wanted to savor every last drop of him. The taste of his lips, the feel of his skin, the breath that will soon be his last.

"Don't tell me you believe in god and the after life, now?" she added, breathless.

He smiled, arms coiling around her waist. Resting his chin against her shoulder, he nuzzled against her neck, playfully tussling her hair with his nose. She heard his deep inhale, chest expanding as he took in the scent of her hair, and for a moment time stopped. Him, full of her; and her, full of him. For a moment they were ten, they were seventeen, they were twenty-five. They were friends, then lovers, then strangers, then lovers once more. They were the innocence of adolescence, they were youth and its despair—

For a moment they were in a future that will never be. It's not fair, she choked, It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair.

"Would you believe me if I said I did?" he finally said, pulling away and pulling her in.

She blinked, her finger tracing the outline of his face, exploring the features that she came to know better than her own, "No."

He nodded, sinking into the pillow. He looked so unlike himself, then—frail and utterly defeated—she could barely recognize him. She knew that he hated it, that he despised what he came to be. At times, she managed to justify her cause, she even saw godliness in it. Let him fight, let him fight, let him fight. But too often, she could only see it as what it truly was; selfishness. There is no godliness in that, only cruelty.

And yet she could never bring herself to willingly let him go, no matter how hard she tried. She loved him too much to be selfless. I'm so sorry; I'm selfish and I'm weak and I cannot let you go.

"Would you believe me if I said I wanted to?" he frowned, black brows falling over his eyes, "For you."

For me?
Be it one god, or two, or twenty, or simply an alliance of dead stars—Whoever you are, whatever you may be—I beg you; please, please, let this not be the end of us,

please.

You are my (flailing heart)

"Don't flatter yourself," he said, smiling coolly through a cloud of smoke, "I don't hate you." He had always waved his lies with such cockiness, such bravado, hoping that it would somehow fool her; but no matter how well he believed he had spun his web, she could always tell.

"It's okay if you did," she softly added, losing herself in the lines of her palms. It'd be easier if you did, she thought, but please, please don't.

She didn't know how much time had passed—she was never able to keep track of time, not with him—but when she looked up, it was already dark. He was looking at her, eyes cold and harsh as the night, but against the faint glimmer of the street light, she could see a speck of color; evergreen, ever hopeful. Your eyes betray you.

Something in the way he peered into her made her suddenly aware of how painful it was to stand her ground, and she found herself dropping her mask, shedding her skin, and stepping nervously under the mercy of his gaze. Trying—and failing—to prove that she was better than what time had made her out to be.

And god, how she loved him; now more than ever. How his smile flared against her cheeks, filling her up with all the happiness, and the bitterness, and the selfishness, and the anger. I wish I was as strong as you wanted me to be, I wish I had fought for you as you would have fought for me.

And as she smoothed her dress and tucked in her hair, something he once said immediately came to mind, and she could tell from the amusement spreading across his face that he was thinking about it, too.

"I like you as the fucking mess you are." 

Were* were* were*