and still I write in thought of her

Would you release these memories from their chains and have them howl upon the powdered face of past? By all accounts, the stories yet refrained are grand with love and loss that’s come to pass, but heed the open wound and the beating heart; there will be blood, my dear, there will be blood. Catch every red and salty drop that parts from vein and eye, toward the growing flood, and swallow them with your gentle words; they cannot hope to save the long deceased. This time is mine to voice what’s yet been heard, to tell you, lest forever hold my peace, there was, there is, and shall forever be, another heart that haunts eternally.