The Moonlit Widow





                        The Moonlit Widow window stories
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soulstitch_04
soulstitch_04 aesthetically aestivating
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
The war left her waiting by the window forever.

The Moonlit Widow

There she leans against jellyfish walls

There she leans against jellyfish walls and braids her sunlit hair with heirless hands

There she leans against jellyfish walls and braids her sunlit hair with heirless hands as the moon dances on the lake of her tears

There she leans against jellyfish walls and braids her sunlit hair with heirless hands as the moon dances on the lake of her tears and the stars drip from her eyes.

The air raids have stopped.

The air raids have stopped. Death doesn’t clasp them mid-snore now.

The air raids have stopped. Death doesn’t clasp them mid-snore now. Why should it?

The air raids have stopped. Death doesn’t clasp them mid-snore now. Why should it? There are now enough ways for them to die awake, to die alive.

The debris around the plane-crash had witnessed her wails

The debris around the plane-crash had witnessed her wails, the dwindling flames had tried in vain

The debris around the plane-crash had witnessed her wails, the dwindling flames had tried in vain to steal her teardrop from his unfeeling forehead.

They had found her in his heart

They had found her in his heart, and him in hers.

They had found her in his heart, and him in hers. They had watched love embrace two war-gifted scars.

Her parched lips long to forget that touch

Her parched lips long to forget that touch, that living warmth that still haunts her halved nights.

The world outside the window is to her

The world outside the window is to her like the dew-crowned grass on his grave

The world outside the window is to her like the dew-crowned grass on his grave, her own breath

The world outside the window is to her like the dew-crowned grass on his grave, her own breath like the unquestioningly wilting lilies before his epitaph.

The spring breeze is mirthful, merciless.

The spring breeze is mirthful, merciless. It sighs in hopeless envy of her angelic azure wedding gown

The spring breeze is mirthful, merciless. It sighs in hopeless envy of her angelic azure wedding gown as she glances at the hem of sealed, bottled memories.

She doesn’t notice the cracks in her windowpane

She doesn’t notice the cracks in her windowpane turning into lightning strikes on her widowed skin

She doesn’t notice the cracks in her windowpane turning into lightning strikes on her widowed skin, and without warning-

the hermetic vessel of Yesterdays bursts open.

She gazes inside and sees him smile.

She gazes inside and sees him smile.

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