The Ruin Script

the clock keeps bleeding. i find myself watching the blood drip—one by one. my thoughts began to drift, lost in a vast sea, carried by tides that know no shore. the waves inside me whisper your name—soft and hollow, like a memory begging to be remembered. was it real, or just a hallucination painted by longing? your i love you’s felt like prayers from trembling lips—words that sounded divine, but died before they reached heaven.

“i love you.”

the first time you said it, i searched your eyes for meaning, hoping to find warmth, or maybe truth. but all i found was stillness, a silence too heavy to hold.

the second time, your voice trembled. not with tenderness, but with fear. it sounded like a spell you cast to convince yourself, not a truth meant for me.

the third time, i prayed your syllables would bloom into something real—but they withered midair. it wasn’t love—it was a mirage. i almost believed you. almost. you loved the reflection of what you thought i was, not the quiet chaos of who i am—not my ruins. your words spoke, yes, but they had no language—only noise pretending to mean something.

you asked me, “do you love me?”

i do. i love you like dawn loves to break the dark. like the wind that carries warmth yet holds no shape. like clouds that follow the sun even when unseen. like the setting sun surrendering to the moon’s gentle reign. like the stars that bleed their glow into the night, each flicker a quiet ache.

yes,
i love you.
more than these
three words
could ever confess.
not in sound. nor syllable.
but in silence. in ache.
in the language
you never learned
to speak.

now, i understand—
even love, when spoken
without a language is nothing
but sound fading in silence.

author’s note:
— bled by @achilleusdeirdre
— 2nd of november, year 2025
— open to criticism; all echoes welcome.
— lowercase intended for signature writing.