Dear Caroline (Wuthering Heights)

You are my addiction. I crave the taste of your rejection, the highs in your hi’s and when i’m low I come looking.
You are my prison. I volunteer every day to be caged in my affections for you. To feed on the meagre food of your approval. To drink in the macabre life I live in your absence if only for two seconds of pure bliss in your embrace.
You are my achilles heel, my thorn in the flesh, except I am no Paul. Even after I murdered you, you still haunt me. You are my sin. My secret. My abyss…


Her bridge was awash with thistles of despair and regret. ‘I was good at it, I will have you know’ she said. To Odhis, it sounded like the last kicks of a dying man, a final attempt to epitomize a moment that refused to transcend time. If only he could be her knight in shinning armour! She was only asking to keep her bodaboda job but she had to go. She had to hama, eyes shinning with tears shed freely only in the night.


Coloring the black shades with her queen, in the game she thought she was playing, she didn’t realize, until her heart broke into twenty-nine pieces of silver, one shy of Judas, zero dignity, reduced to less than Hosea’s wife, because hers came with no title, that she was only for hire, that she was only a pawn, in the chess board of her own aunt who organized the whole ordeal.