I am Lucifer
I love him. He knows and that makes it hurt even more. To never see him again. To never look at him, hear his voice, feel his touch, his presence. To know that somewhere the light still touches his face and erases the crags of time; the cares of the world erased with a sunbeam, and I am not there to see it. I no longer run my hand along his face, guiding the light to the new creases I find. And yes, I still love him.
He made me love him; I never had a choice, despite what anyone thinks.
That day. I'd spent the night hating him, the morning loving him. How I always spent my time. No choice, you see. No choice.
Since the dawn of time... no that's wrong. I wasn't around then. The first day, that's when I first loved him. And every day after that. Even today, which is to say, tonight.
I no longer guide the sun though I sometimes hide behind the moon, to try to catch the reflections of the light that was once my whole existence. I used to curse his name in the night, and now I find it is the only time I can say it aloud - why waste my breath with hatred now? When it is the only breath I have? My love for him once faded at night, and grew to the swelling of the dawn. Now I have no sun and I find that my love for him is still there.
That day. It was a beautiful day. I'd dressed the day with all of my love for him and he knew, he knew what he was going to do to me. He never gave me a choice.
I remember it. Remember... hah. I relive it every night. He rises. He opens the doors. He steps into the light. He lifts his arm as if to wave good morning, but that's not what he's doing. The pain hits me as I am torn from the sun, as my wings are ripped from my back. But worse. He turns to me and I see that he doesn't care. He never did love me - I was a bastard child, a toy, a tool. All this I saw in his eyes as he broke me and sent me hurtling away from everything I ever knew. From him.
It was day, and I loved him. The whole of creation was bathed in the love I held for him and it burned me, the sunlight did. I am no longer able to stand the sun - what was once my joy is now my demise. I ran, hid among strangers, and died a thousand deaths at each mention of his name. Finally I found peace of sorts, in the darkness. My antithesis is now my salvation, my balm. And sometimes, I steal glances at him, quick painful looks that sustain me through the daylight. And if I curse him then, it is only because he knows. And if at night I speak his name, it is because I still love him.
I love him. He knows and that makes it hurt even more. To never see him again. To never look at him, hear his voice, feel his touch, his presence. To know that somewhere the light still touches his face and erases the crags of time; the cares of the world erased with a sunbeam, and I am not there to see it. I no longer run my hand along his face, guiding the light to the new creases I find. And yes, I still love him.
He made me love him; I never had a choice, despite what anyone thinks.
That day. I'd spent the night hating him, the morning loving him. How I always spent my time. No choice, you see. No choice.
Since the dawn of time... no that's wrong. I wasn't around then. The first day, that's when I first loved him. And every day after that. Even today, which is to say, tonight.
I no longer guide the sun though I sometimes hide behind the moon, to try to catch the reflections of the light that was once my whole existence. I used to curse his name in the night, and now I find it is the only time I can say it aloud - why waste my breath with hatred now? When it is the only breath I have? My love for him once faded at night, and grew to the swelling of the dawn. Now I have no sun and I find that my love for him is still there.
That day. It was a beautiful day. I'd dressed the day with all of my love for him and he knew, he knew what he was going to do to me. He never gave me a choice.
I remember it. Remember... hah. I relive it every night. He rises. He opens the doors. He steps into the light. He lifts his arm as if to wave good morning, but that's not what he's doing. The pain hits me as I am torn from the sun, as my wings are ripped from my back. But worse. He turns to me and I see that he doesn't care. He never did love me - I was a bastard child, a toy, a tool. All this I saw in his eyes as he broke me and sent me hurtling away from everything I ever knew. From him.
It was day, and I loved him. The whole of creation was bathed in the love I held for him and it burned me, the sunlight did. I am no longer able to stand the sun - what was once my joy is now my demise. I ran, hid among strangers, and died a thousand deaths at each mention of his name. Finally I found peace of sorts, in the darkness. My antithesis is now my salvation, my balm. And sometimes, I steal glances at him, quick painful looks that sustain me through the daylight. And if I curse him then, it is only because he knows. And if at night I speak his name, it is because I still love him.