Solar flare,

don’t you dare

burn

our house

down.

Time can only

heal the entry wound of the

poison barb

you left inside me:

rotting love,

festering longing -

purple toxin living in my

blood.

Your hand in

my hand,

but

time struck and

you stumbled —

down,

down,

down —

oh,

were our shattered knees

and

scraped hands,

blood-tinged teeth —

were they worth it?

(Was it worth it to

clasp

our hands

so tightly that

one circle, two —

rings of fire,

surrounding us both

forever?)

My once known shadow,

but my forever estranged enemy,

held me so tenderly when I gave him what he longed for:

goodbye.

You love that little blade:

cradle it’s handle oh so gently.

Sing it soft songs to sleep.

Warm it’s metal with your rest laden body.

You love that little blade -

even when it cuts.

Have you ever loved in scales?

Perfect balance?

Perfect symmetry?

Each step mirrored -

where one goes, the other

follows?

The smallest shift in weight can

jar the balance -

a breath,

a kiss,

a tear,

a moment.

A clang as joints disband.

A crash to the floor as you

spin out of orbit.

It will never be the same.

You will never be the same.

But -

But,

once,

you were lucky enough to

love

in scales.

Once,

you were whole and

perfect.

Oh,

sweet memory,

the icy blade between my

bones.

Oh, sweet love,

the ailment lingering in my

blood.

Oh, sweet agony,

burning through my

lungs.

Oh, sweet lover,

lost from me

forever.

Oh, sweet sadness:

eternal companion and

penance.

And he saved you from

disaster and ruin,

your beautiful fire-starting boy.

The flames he lets lick your

salt-soaked remains

don’t change that.

Many times,

he saved you.

Many times.

(It only takes once for

destruction

to lay waste.)

(It only takes

forever for a

heart to break.)

Carved your name into my

cold bones

and was stunned when you showed yours:

pristine.

Something tender,

something sweet;

loveliness found in

rotten meat.

And what of falling stars,

and crashing waves?

What of split tectonic plates?

What of

you,

me,

us,

and the yawning chasm

between?

(Do you still say my name like

the only

prayer

you’ve ever

known?)

And I wonder when I’ll stop

seeing your face

in every

tragedy and

betrayal.

One word,

never uttered,

forever lingering in my mouth

and

burning eyes.

One word I wished I had the courage to say:

Stay.

I opened my arms to comfort you

and

you went for my throat with a snarl.

Monsters need love, too

(but only on their terms).

I’m so tired of this

heartache

wrapped in

barb wired love.

Darling,

you are an

axe hammer

and, I -

a sheathed blade.

Do not forget:

we are both weapons.

(I know how to cut, too.)

And I am begging:

Don’t do this to him

(Don’t do this to yourself).

His end is not just his own.

Land of two setting suns.

Drink my daydreams of

us

from my

shivering

belly button.

Let me clasp my hands around you and

hold your

venomous maw

against my womb.

Beloved betrayer.

Erstwhile naysayer.

Dearest love,

I am

devoted

to you and your

damnation.

That poison from that cracked rock -

I drank it, too.

I drank it, too.

Lick the salt from my eyes

and

kiss the copper from my lips -

embrace me one last time,

beloved.

Sup on my sorrow and

drink me dry.

I would let you

bury your dagger

of

deceit and accusations,

as long as you did it

while

you held me

one

last

time.

rsblmng:

I loved you in all the ways that mattered:

The clasp of my hand when it lifted yours;

The curl of my lips to hide a shared joke;

My ever present self at your back.

I love you

But

You don’t believe me

As

Those words can never cross my lips.

Dear one,

The vow I’ve never had the courage to say,

Burns eternal -

Eating up the last one I ever said aloud.

Don’t leave me.

I am too weak for goodbyes.

I do not know who I am

Without you

Beside me.

rsblmng:

I never told you but

I kept a small box

of keepsakes from moments

I treasured.

When the dust cleared and the box was

returned to me,

I opened that box and saw

all the pieces I saved of you.

Every memento I kept

was a glowing reminder of

my love for you.

I buried them in the sand -

all those bits of happiness -

tilted my head down and

watered them with my

tears.

Let them blossom in the

heart of the dessert

and let me

burn

under your unforgiving wrath.

(“I still love you,”

is the secret

that blooms between them.)

I cried.

Later on with just the

moon and stars to watch me

(the same stars we cradled each other through fire and hurt)

I cried -

for me,

for us,

and,

most of all,

for You.

You,

who are what I made you to be.

(Everything but

mine.)

Hurt me one last time,

Beloved.

Just say my name when you

let me go.

Your paper-dry hands,

still the warmest I’ve ever held,

that last time.

I still love you.

kittimau:

sagegarnish:

There’s official obikin rings now?

Losing my whole entire mind…

Matching love rings?

The DESCRIPTIONS!?!?!?

What is happening

ALT

Source ( x)

ALT

unspuncreature:

Waiting for This Story to End Before I Begin Another- Jan Heller Levi

neo–queen–serenity:

All I could think about during Vader’s first face-off with Obi Wan was the jedi rule “if a jedi ignites their lightsaber, they must be ready to take a life.” And when Vader first lights his saber and reveals himself, Obi-Wan seemed to seriously think about it—like we can SEE the gears turning in his head—and he chooses to run instead. We know Obi-Wan’s rusty, we know he hasn’t fought in years, we know he has reason to fear him, but after all this time, he did not ignite that lightsaber until he was no longer in Vader’s line of sight. He wasn’t ready to take Anakin’s life on Mustafar, he isn’t ready now, and he never, ever will be.

bi-wan:

Soft moment loosely based on @obi-wkenobi’sficlet

princeescaluswords:

When Disappointment is Not Disappointing

This is about Obi-Wan Kenobi, Episode 3:

When I first watched the fight, I was disappointed. It was clumsy. Awkward. Beautifully shot, but the fight was nothing compared to other light saber fights, and Darth Vader clearly letting Obi-Wan get away.

And then I suddenly smacked myself with the Clue Bat. Of course. That was the point.

Obi-Wan Kenobi has not wielded a light saber for maybe ten years. Both he and it have sat decaying in the desert. He doesn’t sleep well, he has a mindless menial job where he must let cruelty happen on a daily basis, so he can go home where his only social interaction is being cheated by Jawas and emotionally flagellating himself by fixating on a ten-year-old boy that he can’t even talk to.

He had to be asking himself – what the hell am I even doing here. I told Bail I couldn’t do this. I told him!

And then there’s Darth Vader. He starts out killing innocents because that will make Obi-Wan come to him. Only it doesn’t. What the hell is that? Then he draws his light saber and Obi-Wan runs. What the hell is this? He tried to provoke his old master with bullshit “I am what you made me” and “You should have killed me when you had the chance” and Obi-Wan doesn’t lecture him about the Force. He doesn’t say a single word! And then when they fight, he does it one-handed, and every ounce of Hayden Christensen’s body language screams disappointment. What the hell is this?

Anakin Skywalker didn’t spend ten years in the Imperial Brooding Chamber in his Castle Commemorating His Defeat on his Impressive Stone Throne of Angst, plotting his revenge like the Pettiest Most Dramatic Bitch in the Galaxy, for nothing.

This was supposed to be his Validation, and he ends up fighting a terrified hobo in a strip mine.

So, of course, he stops burning him. This isn’t what he wanted at all. He lets Ben go, because maybe if he does so, the Force will stop yanking his chain and give him the round two he always wanted.

And the best part? It will. Deborah Chow has slowly, meticulously showed the re-emergence of General Kenobi, the best of the Jedi, poking through ten years of loneliness and mourning. It will come back, it will come out, but Darth Vader might not like the result.

Why?

“The Jedi Code is like an itch. He cannot help it!”