Beloved.

 

With twenty-six letters, hundreds of thousands of combinations can be made, but this one, by far is my favorite.

When spoken, it dances off the tongue like an eager lamb, more than ready to meet the altar, naïve in the ways of death.

But it is the feeling, not the sound of the word that draws my favor. It always begins as a dull ache that burns in the center of my chest, an ache that depends and simmers until there is a gaping hole where my heart should be.

Because it reminds me in a gentle way, that no one will ever call me by such a name. It is my favorite word because it has been, and will always be, lost to me. I am a piercing cactus in a sea of daisies. Who would be willing to hurt themselves to love another?

Beloved,

b e l o v e d ,

b e    l o v e d .

 

i can't.
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