Chandelier
Under the grand chandelier of this ballroom, we stand with our hands occupied with wine glasses and the palms of another lined with velvet and silk; with unreciprocated gold and diamonds encrusted on their fingers.
As the candles dim and the stares vanish under the darkness,
I hear you dress shoes counter the floor and walk towards me.
With the dimmed candles, I find you under the reflective glass chandelier taunting us from above, only when the room empties when I find your eyes.
Ever so neon green under the stars and the realm ruled by Hades.
As our feet guide us into a waltz orchestrated by the melodies of the cello and flute, we blend perfectly as if we were chosen centrepieces for the ballroom floor; our unspoken words meeting on the tips of our lips.
Audible gasps and whispers go above our noticing ears as the light reignites. Sheer looks of shame and horror embroider each superficial face of concern; drowning the faces of our heartbroken.
Our dear bestowed,
our dear betrothed.
Everything falls void onto our shameless, but hopelessly romanticized, eyes. As the tune of the celebrations falters, our reality crashes on our shoulders as our heels slam into the floorboards.
As we crash through the grand doors that were once open for us, doors that now remain forever closed and locked away with our abandoned titles.
As we run, we drop our past, dreams, and curses.
We make way for the endeavours that have yet to torment us. We have yet to make sense of our consequences.
Maybe it will work, maybe we’ll decimate like the candle flames that lit the room. Maybe we’ll decimate as we are destined for, facilitated through our youthful sins.
Maybe, we’ll never return.
Maybe, we’ll regret this sooner or later.
Maybe so, but I know I will never forget this.
Now and until every mistake made in that room burns under the hellfire we set ablaze.
Until we age into ruins and curse our shamelessness.
Cursing it onto the shattered chandelier that once held high,
the chandelier that once glistened above as wine glasses filled our hands, and the poor souls’ hands that lace in velvet and silk that we left barren and blessed with a beautifully cursed night.
A beautifully cursed night that will lay unforgotten until the end of this era. A beautifully cursed night that will leave us torn between pride and regret, never of each other, but of the contracts and scriptures we tore apart.
We rush out of the door, leaving everything that once held its own esteem. We leave our nobility and grace shattered onto the ground, imitating the chandelier that no longer hangs.
The grand chandelier of that ballroom no longer shines,
coated with the tar of our cursed plans and stares,
coated with the blood of all those we surrendered,
and those we left to rust with the bones that once belonged to us.
