If the hurt comes
so will the happiness.
Some stories are filled with tragedies. Others are fiction.
She learned that from her own story, when her chopped hair hit the floor of the car.
Despite her constant attempts to not fake a smile, and his to reconcile, they just never seemed to click. Was it love? Or was it just the feeling? It would always be a mystery to her.
Here she was, simple as the pallid sand, and he, the blue ocean, washing away her senses.
It was a long time before she began to wonder whether he was the solution- or just a distraction. For him, every problem was too small, every question too silly.
“No one cares, sweetie.”
The words “nothing” and “forget it” became the norm of her everyday. A repetitive stretch, as his monotony became her constant.
“Ah but you got away, didn’t you babe?”
He was what they call a new chapter- she only made the mistake of choosing the wrong page, each word carved an ode to his lies. Why was it so hard to notice the worn edges? He was the simplest form danger could be spelt in.
And yet, he always left her as conflicted as the October weather.
It must be a talent, to get oneself so
tangled in toxicity,
and still not miss the feeling
of air in their lungs.
Forever running in circles, always chasing a Neverland.
As her head rested on the steering, she realised that all she always had was his promises, not him.
He was too wild of a spirit to ever stay, too bright of a fire to ever settle.
But that was then; when every step had a spring, every song had his name. Every wind was his whisper, every sunset their home.
That was then.
This is now.
She had no choice, but to forget it all, along with the false hopes she had held onto. The 3 a.m. roof escapes, the late night talks, that kiss under the stairs and that god-awful smile.
Because fading into him was not an option anymore- she had to be her own star.
Her poems can’t be about his eyes, she would learn to write about her own scars.
To control the fickleness of her mind, the fragility of her heart.
To learn patience, to embrace blue yesterdays.
Because her time will come.
“When?” Asked the mirror.
“When it will.”