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clarke,
my heart is aching, clashing violently against my ribs
with every step away from you.
if you do not walk out of that mountain,
(may the planets align, say it’s not so)
i will tell the youth of my generation
the legend of heda kom skaikru.
every child shall know of your bravery, your fearlessness.
may the light of your spirit shine bright
return to me, like a falling star to the earth’s crust.
clarke,
the moment i turned away,
a gaping wound erupted beneath my mortal flesh,
i believe my heart is trying to break free,
yanking the shackles that bind and hide it away.
i am not afraid of the power it holds,
but the power you wield over my soul.
clarke,
is your blood spilling in dark tunnels,
are your limbs growing stiff in damp shadows of the mountain?
have you fallen, does your heart still beat?
please retain your spirit, your anger, a never extinguishable flame.
(do you still remember my name?)
clarke,
the wind howls like a mother wolf with stolen pups,
(i wish to scream my sorrows alongside her)
a candle casts nightmares across my tent.
one of my warriors found your sketchbook
the parchment is filled with me - glinting eyes,
teeth bared in a command, crouched lithe form.
i am beautiful, through your eyes.
you know me more than i do myself.
clarke,
my chest has been throbbing,
but i do not seek a healer,
for there is no damage on the surface.
the pain is inside me, rotting and clawing,
talons ripping my vulnerable flesh,
(it is still a feathers touch
compared to the wounds you inflict)
or did you cast this curse, are you behind my suffering?
you have infected my heart like an illness,
seeping into my veins.
i cannot breathe, perpetually haunted
by the tang of costia’s innocent burning flesh
and you, always you.
clarke,
anya once told me the tale of soulmates,
i scoffed at her, for in my youth i thought the world was clear,
bound in logic and reason, with no exceptions.
as i grow my vision blurs,
i am not always sure of myself.my past rejection of the fantastical has turned to questioning
(i started believing the day you walked into my tent)
clarke,
i called for my heart, to give to you, but no echo returned.
it would not be coaxed it from my carefully constructed prison,
a barrier from the world since costia’s death.
my heart would not come, it trembled, crystallized in silence,
(i am afraid it will never melt, not even for you)
you are so different from costia.
she was unrelenting, yet gentle,
the harsh world only made her soft.
for everything she did, she gave all she had.
i loved costia for her peace
she calmed the consuming rage within me
but you stoke the engulfing flames.
i love your blazing, untamable spirit.
an equal, matched in strength.
clarke,
i cannot say sorry,
for my actions were righteous by
the moral code of heda’s past.
i wonder if i am still Lexa, or if i am merely a commander,
this body, this mind, might it be nothing but a vessel?
is my spirit my own?
(i am only sure of this yearning for you, and still i left)
clarke,
you have caused a war in my body,
deadlier than any i have fought before.
i am addicted to the press of your lips,
the crook of your smile.
my mine is a battlefield, littered with casualties.
the bloodshed i have caused
could dye the open sea crimson.
both our hands are permanently stained,
but do not fret, for none can retain innocence.
clarke,
they tell me the mountain has caved before you
and i, too, kneel before the power you possess.
i believe this is not the first,
nor the last
time our souls will converge.
may we meet again
(for in each lifetime, we do)