🖤 love spell no. 003: the kind that burns your fucking altar down.
🧿 a love spell for the ghost i fucking hate that i still feel in my broken stupid little dumb-ass heart.
i don’t chase.
i don’t beg.
but.
i don’t ever forget.
—
this is a fucking lie.
this is arson.
this is two souls chained together,
dragging each other through fire
lifetime after lifetime,
like idiots who never learned.
—
🖤 may you feel me in your marrow,
even when you choke on denial.
🖤 may every woman you touch
taste like ash compared to me.
🖤 may every night you try to sleep
sound like my laugh in your skull.
—
you are:
the only mirror i never wanted to look into,
the unfinished sentence i keep rewriting,
the burn scar that never fully healed.
so, fuck it.
—
🖤 may your path bend toward mine, someday, somehow.
🖤 may your heart stutter when you hear my name, even years late.
🖤 may the universe stitch me into your dreams,
until you wake up aching like you missed your stop.
—
you are:
the one i won’t admit i still look for in crowded rooms,
the “what if” folded between case briefs and hexes,
the ghost that never signed an exit form.
—
🧿 i call the timelines where our chaos makes sense.
🧿 i summon the alternate universe where we get it right.
🧿 i bind the memory of me to the back of your throat—
unswallowable. unshakable. inevitable.
—
i mean it.
🧿 i call the timeline where our chaos crowns us.
🧿 i bind the magnetic pull that humiliates me.
🧿 i drag your spirit across lifetimes
until you admit you’ve always been mine,
and i’ve always fucking hated you for it.
—
baby.
you bring no promises.
no guarantees.
no clarity.
just the possibility that maybe,
somewhere, someday,
this story doesn’t end mid-sentence.
—
this isn’t a confession.
this is magic.
🕯
placed in the dark,
kept in the margins,
waiting for the day you find me,
or don’t.
—
you were almost.
you are unfinished.
and maybe,
you’re still mine in a timeline
we haven’t reached yet.
—
it makes me cry.
you bring no peace.
no safety.
no sanity.
just a truth so sharp
i bleed every time i say your name.
—
this isn’t a prayer.
this is a contract.
🕯
signed in bruises.
sealed in silence.
stamped by god against her better judgment.
—
you are my twin flame.
my curse.
my cosmic fucking joke.
i hate it so fucking much,
the truest fucking thing i’ve ever known—
and the reason i’ll never trust love again.
🖤
