Fragments of a Haunted Heart

By Roshan Tara

The moonlight spills over his silhouette,

a hush falls across the room,

and dread sinks into my stomach

like a stone vanishing in the lake’s black water.

His footsteps — staccato, deliberate — echo,

then fade into the stillness,

the door closing behind him

like the final sentence of a secret I can’t yet read.

He doesn’t answer my questions,

doesn’t weave explanations,

but that grin 

a slow, sinful twist of his lips 

sends sparks skittering down my spine,

igniting every corner of my silence.

Not a single word spoken,

not a confession uttered,

yet the air trembles with something unsaid.

And when his voice finally breaks the night,

deep and alluring,

I pray for the world to freeze,

to keep him speaking forever.

Then — his truth:

his love,

his desire,

his ask for a kiss

that left me trembling.

I hesitated,

but his nearness drowned out fear;

and when his lips claimed mine,

my imagination proved

a fragile imitation.

That kiss fractured gravity itself 

I flew into the stars,

tethered only to him,

as if the universe had finally conspired

to ruin me with beauty.

He sees the darkest corners of me,

the fragments too jagged to show in daylight,

and loves me not despite them,

but because of them.

And so I know 

there is nothing left I could do

to drive him away.

He is already bound.

Already mine,

as I am his.

But why?

Why must it be us,

this collapse of souls,

this dangerous serenity

born in a room where dust motes shimmer

like galaxies caught in the afternoon sun?

Strange comfort settles 

a serenity wrapped in dread,

a promise sealed with shadows.

And as my pen trembles across this page

I cannot tell

if I’m writing a love story

or the confession of a curse.

By Roshan Tara