He said he could read me like a book, but could he see the pages missing?
Probably lost in the holidays spent or in the shuffle while kissing. He only creased the book’s spine to illustrate that he did begin To read my tale from the prologue but in reality, only skim. As calendar days turned, like the pages he claimed he did too An epic journey with a selfish prize was what he’d primarily pursue To steal the warmth within the sails of my non-fiction His heartbreak timeline surpassed any expert’s prediction My soul’s blissful editor, published him his own chapter Oblivious to the havoc plot twist and remorse following after. Painted as an unconventional prince with villainous DNA Eternal commitment was unknowingly a façade he did convey Finalizing the first and drafting a sequel leaves me speechless I’m stuck with writer’s block and exposed in all my weakness. In utter disbelief, I turn back to the pages of him; Desperate for a revival story that maybe I can spin. Hours grow up to be days, then fathered into weeks Hopelessness beckons as creativity has seemed to peak Then my computer dies, what the metaphor I lay next to it, with chalk at a crime scene to contour The investigators would be clueless because I’d still be alive, At least medically speaking, but emotionally, unable to sigh. Scrounging the hardwood floor for the collection of writings in my book As the edges graced my fingertips, I peeled it open and my body shook. I wish he wasn’t part of my story; I wish I could rip his pages out. But the memory is engrained on his chapter and what it’s about. Even if I got up the nerve to rip his chapter from my book’s spine, When I open the book, the missing pages is what I’d first find. Then it’d be incomplete, even more than he’s made me feel, And it’d make it much harder for a recovery chapter to reveal What I’ve gained after what I thought I lost Reconstructing a girl once so easily tossed. Not even worth recycling, even though I can be renewed Give it a couple months, and more of these pages will be viewed. I’ll come back bigger and brighter— a sequel, like the sun after an eclipse Eventually not occupying my mind of him and if I’m sorely missed. I’ll slow the cancerous demise of the infatuation cells And spike the white blood cell count in order to propel Past the hate, deceiving strings of promises, and rejection. Fruition and strength is more than my projection. I’m not striving for best-seller but I refuse to be forgotten; Regardless of his spoken verses, crafted to make me rotten. Invincibility has been obtained and my momentum will not slow One day soon, it’ll be impossible to shade my glow. So, his chapter will remain in entirety and I will make my peace No blueprints for revenge, I’ve much sweeter lessons to teach. Henceforth, my ambitions and hours will be spent on rejuvenating matters The prologue of my sequel: how to rechannel your past disasters.
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AuthorChef Steph cooking up trouble. If she can't find anything real, she bakes real good sweets. Chocolate really may mend a broken heart... Archives
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