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Literature Text
Moths whisper from your ear to mine, and I can't understand the words because communication is lost in the endless beating of brittle wings. Your face is a question, and I nod, pretending to understand even though the truth is clear. I scratch at my ear, batting away the moths; you frown, pluck one from the air and crush it with the boyish joy of a child pulling the legs off a spider. I can't look away as you smear rumpled wings and brown insect blood on your shirt; the other moths fly away to the farthest corners of the room, trembling in terror. Your grin is unsteady when you tell me, "I really do love you."
"I know."
Your hand falls on mine, your lips plump and cherry-red--I lean away, shaking my head. The moths are back, and they beat their wings with just enough whisper to drown the choked frustration in your eyes. I see nothing but misery.
"I'm sorry," I tell you, though it's clear you can't understand. "It's not you, it's me," and you just shake your head as if the world had conspired against us to drive you and I apart--but we never were connected, not really, and surely you must know this.
With an angry flail of your arms, you force the moths away for a brief second just to whisper, "But I love you."
And I tell you, "I know that."
"Yeah? Then why do you..."
The moths return, and I've had enough. I take your hand, and bolt for the door, slamming it shut behind me. I can hear them tapping against the wood, trying to get between us again. We stand in the hall, staring at each other, eyes wide with terror.
"I'm sorry," I tell you, and you shake your head.
"Don't apologize."
"I love you, and I'm sorry."
"Don't--"
"I can't do this."
Your lips are gentle. I thought they'd be rough, like the tiny stumble on your chin, the callouses on your hands and the thorns in your heart, but the thorns are all mine and I push against that gentleness, making it eager, harsh, entirely wrong.
You grasp my shoulders and push me back.
"Easy," you say, like a horse whisperer.
I'm tempted to growl at you, scratch and claw my way back to dignity, but then you do that thing your eyes, and they sparkle, and, "I can't--"
"We can."
Moths whisper on the other side of the door, making every doubt appear like facts. You take my hand and we walk away from there. Your lips touch mine, and suddenly, the world makes sense again.
"I love you," I say, but you just nod your head.
"I know."
"I know."
Your hand falls on mine, your lips plump and cherry-red--I lean away, shaking my head. The moths are back, and they beat their wings with just enough whisper to drown the choked frustration in your eyes. I see nothing but misery.
"I'm sorry," I tell you, though it's clear you can't understand. "It's not you, it's me," and you just shake your head as if the world had conspired against us to drive you and I apart--but we never were connected, not really, and surely you must know this.
With an angry flail of your arms, you force the moths away for a brief second just to whisper, "But I love you."
And I tell you, "I know that."
"Yeah? Then why do you..."
The moths return, and I've had enough. I take your hand, and bolt for the door, slamming it shut behind me. I can hear them tapping against the wood, trying to get between us again. We stand in the hall, staring at each other, eyes wide with terror.
"I'm sorry," I tell you, and you shake your head.
"Don't apologize."
"I love you, and I'm sorry."
"Don't--"
"I can't do this."
Your lips are gentle. I thought they'd be rough, like the tiny stumble on your chin, the callouses on your hands and the thorns in your heart, but the thorns are all mine and I push against that gentleness, making it eager, harsh, entirely wrong.
You grasp my shoulders and push me back.
"Easy," you say, like a horse whisperer.
I'm tempted to growl at you, scratch and claw my way back to dignity, but then you do that thing your eyes, and they sparkle, and, "I can't--"
"We can."
Moths whisper on the other side of the door, making every doubt appear like facts. You take my hand and we walk away from there. Your lips touch mine, and suddenly, the world makes sense again.
"I love you," I say, but you just nod your head.
"I know."
Comments5
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*sobs* One of the most gorgeous literature I've read all month! 3 months exactly. I love this. I love this! 
I'm not very sure what the moths represents but to me, they seem to symbolize our society. People. People who can't mind their own business. People who loves to gossip. Who loves to bend the truth and make lovers fight. People who put words in those couples mouth. But the couples are still able to understand each other. And at one point, "you" get frustrated and did something stupid but you still want your lover to know that "you" still love her. At least, thats what I depict in the first paragraph.
The ending in my opinion is quiet predictable and cliche but its still so sweet to make me go "Awww...". Another thing that makes this story amazing is the characters. Although you did not describe how the lover's personality are to one another and their past, but the way they react to each other is so real that the readers feel like they could connect with them. And that, I believe, is an incredible achievement.
I will say it again, I love this work. This story deserves more attention.
I'm not very sure what the moths represents but to me, they seem to symbolize our society. People. People who can't mind their own business. People who loves to gossip. Who loves to bend the truth and make lovers fight. People who put words in those couples mouth. But the couples are still able to understand each other. And at one point, "you" get frustrated and did something stupid but you still want your lover to know that "you" still love her. At least, thats what I depict in the first paragraph.
The ending in my opinion is quiet predictable and cliche but its still so sweet to make me go "Awww...". Another thing that makes this story amazing is the characters. Although you did not describe how the lover's personality are to one another and their past, but the way they react to each other is so real that the readers feel like they could connect with them. And that, I believe, is an incredible achievement.
I will say it again, I love this work. This story deserves more attention.