By Ivy C. Lovelorn

If I were to have the tragic honour of laying your remains to eternal rest,
to give you a place where to forever hold your slumber in, I
would lay you where you belong.
You, my dear, belong in an endless field of flowers,
gleaming from the tears of an early morning,
eternally kissed by the glowing sun,
and surrounded by the wonders of nature –
which will take back her place as queen of centuries –
but only after kneeling in front of the fairness of your soul,
realising that for all her beauty
she would never have chance of comparison to the delicacy of your essence.
You belong where the earth meets the sky, where the green grass –
fertile and moist, as old as the earth that borned it –
meets with the cerulean infinity above it –
its emptiness filled with millions and millions of stars,
who sheepishly hide from the blazing sun,
as opposite of the graceful freckles of light scattered across your body –
to smoothly dance hand in hand until their time has come.
You belong where time seems to fly as it passes by,
ever so slowly, that it is almost impossible to release a single breath,
as you catch the opportunity of becoming aware
of the perfect imperfection that surrounds you,
and everything,
and everyone.
Where everything seems almost static, as if in an endless interlude,
waiting for your soft smile to breathe life into it, to give it will of movement back.
This is where I would lay you,
where I would want you to spend all your silent days.
This is where you belong.

You belong among all things nice.

And if there aren’t any, I won’t let myself find peace
until I’ve made them with my own two hands,
if it meant sacrificing every atom of my being.
And although you’ll be leaving me,
and this disastrous and doomed world behind –
robbing it of all its wonderful colours,
its sweetest smells and its most gorgeous sights –
to pass on to a new beginning,
your memory will always be on me.
Your name will forever be engraved into my heart,
a perpetual linger on my lips,
an incessant silent whisper in my ears.
We will part, yes, but you’ll never leave my mind,
for I will cherish every moment we have spent together –
every scratch that attested our collision,
every day filled with horror for what destiny had in store for you,
every time I could feel the tip of my feathers burn
as I knew that I was falling more and more away from Heaven
and into your arms –
as the dearest of all things made,
because this is what they truly are.
And as you leave me, you’ll shatter me beyond repair:
my eyes will always tire,
as they engage in an endless search for your presence
everywhere I will set foot,
my ears will always lament the loss
of the delightful sound of your laugh,
my lips will forever mourn the taste of yours,
lost in hypothesis and various ‘if only’s.
I can only hope to be so lucky
to be blessed with the phantom of you everywhere I stand.
But fear not, as to be forgotten or suffer of loneliness,
because I will spend all my remaining days –
as quiet and vacant they will be –
to make sure that your name is known
to everyone who had the disgrace of questioning me
what true love and happiness is,
as I’ll exhaust their ears of stories of you,
hoping that a fraction of my passion will for a swift instant
bring you back to me.
And when I am not, you’ll find me at your shrine, talking to your soul,
hoping my messages will find you, as I am to let you know
that you’ll always fill my every thought.
Know that forever I will pray – not for your return –
but pray to be fortunate enough
to earn a place next to yours in the sky and the earth,
to be the missing star in the constellation of your heart,
to be worthy of standing in front of you anew,
to shout for everything dear all the words left unsaid,
hoping it would help placate the fire of my heart
lit by matches of your own.
Oh, to wish- oh, to hope, will be all that will be left of me,
to long to be able to rest my hand on your cheek,
counting every freckle,
detecting every shade of your emerald eyes,
grinning at every crease that old age
has decorated your soft skin with, my love.
And will you wait for me, with arms open wide,
preparing for a final embrace that will allow me at last to merge
with the everlasting tenderness of your truest essence –
even if I am never to be considered worthy of it –
if I promise you that the wait for reunion
won’t take the eons that it will feel like?

–

Ivy C. Lovelorn is an international student based in London who was born and raised in Naples, Italy. They are proudly non-binary, and currently studying Criminology with Psychology at LSBU. They write about feelings that she doesn’t quite understand herself in hope that someone out there might understand.