If you ask me to, I'll beg for you, stripped of pride; divested of myself, I will don the garment of desire and wear the mask - of sin and be the fantasy - the mother, the sister, the friend, the lover, the ideal and the temptation. I will watch you fall into me, over and over, every time holding you tighter, closer, to save you from myself, from yourself, only to have you come to me, again and again. Endlessly, for you are my punishment for old transgressions, for past lives wasted, for hearts torn and dreams forsaken; your wounds on me are my atonement and you are thorough, my precious.

I am the dark within you, in your eyes in swirls of black, on your lips in kisses of venom; I'm your thoughts of fire, the rush of blood through your veins, the pounding of your heart in hurried beat. Don't send me away, lover, for you will fall apart. Pray that I don't leave.

She's always watched him, from afar. Silly girl. Sighing and starry-eyed, hoping against hope, dreading, that he might see her too, just this once. But she crumbles a little more each time his eyes don't fall on her, and she forsakes another of her dreams - they wouldn't stand the light of day, anyway. When she feels extremely cold and discouraged, she can clearly see the tiny fractures in all of her ideals and can even feel them disintegrating, decaying. She laughs derisively, bitter and harsh, at her own delusion and thinks 'never again'; and she cries, because she's learned not to trust herself. Release is what she waits for now, illusions discarded; all the words broken weighing her down, flaws chaining her to the nightmares of her failure.

Now, he sees her - he knows - and she hates him. She wishes she could scar his flawless skin, hurt his beautiful gaze and mar his bright - distantly pitying, condescendingly compassionate - smile, unworldly and cruel. Her ties keep straining and she suddenly feels merciless. He should taste the bitterness of rejection and the sting of alienation, divested of his guise of beauty. She wants him lost, spoiled and craving, his desires denied.

As she follows the mesmerizing dance of waves below her, she waits. He's watching her intently and she revels minutely in her small victory. 'It's almost over', she whispers to wild winds and laden skies; she smiles sadly, but so achingly free and light, she trembles.

Once more she looks back, drinking in the sight of him for the last, painfully infinite, time and she almost gives in to her old demons; she would reach out to touch that which beckons, arresting and pristine, but she can't forget, intensely aware of how close she is to falling back into him - her weakness. She steps back, disentangling herself from the strings of fate that bind them, and closes her eyes, the image of him carved bright into her mind. She lets go.

'I'm memory now, and always part of you', her thoughts echo, and it feels like revenge.

'I'll be your torment'.