Let me tell you a little story.
(I would have walked through fire for you.
You would have crossed the seven stormy seas for me.)
The thrill of the chase, the throbbing heartbeats. Erratic breaths, rosy cheeks, raspy voices. Tantalising, daring, alluring. Show me your hand, I’ll reveal mine to you. Show me the tricks you’ve got hiding under your sleeve, and I’ll show you a few of my own.
(But we were just waiting to be caught.)
The ensnaring. You’re mine,and I’m yours, and the balance of the universe is finally set right. We’re each others’, hopelessly, infinitely,colossally. Unbreakable.
(Or so we said.)
The intertwining. Your words tumbling from my mouth. Phrases from my dictionary slowly blending into yours. I begin to hold my coffee mug the way you do,you begin to knot your tie the way I do.
(And we both still do.)
Like the threads in fabric, like the weaves in a basket, we intertwined, by the day, everyday. Slowly. Surely. Weaving our own tapestry.
(It was more beautiful than any I have seen in all the museums.)
Your breath becomes mine,my heartbeat becomes yours. It was magic, it was insanity.
(But such sweet,sweet insanity.)
We would take bullets for each other. Unquestionably, gladly.
(But what we didn’t know that for either of us, the other was the one pulling the trigger. Fire away, honey. Fire away.)
It was ripe gold, it was gleaming silver. It was the mellow,glowing sunrise, it was the burning, bleeding sunset. It was all the colours of the spectrum and a million more.
(But darling,such perfection could never last.)
And it didn’t. We were contraband, and we were paying the price. We were the tingling thrills and shivers, we were the restricted paradise, the illicit ecstasy.
(And,oh, did we pay the price.)
And now we’re torn apart, each with a gaping hole in our soul and heart. Our tapestry in shreds.
And all that is left is the memories. Beautiful, terrible memories. The mocking echoes that remind you of what’s lost, what will never come back again. The taunting jibes that poke at your heart, goring new holes every time.
(Now you know what a fire being stoked feels like.)
And the little keepsakes no one means to leave behind remain. Your scent on my sofa. My hair tangled in your jacket. Your shirt in my wardrobe, my toothbrush in your sink. The unforgettable taste of our first kiss, strawberries and champagne.
(The bubbles and the fizz, the sparkling taste of fireworks.)
We try to forget. I delete your number. You unfollow me on Instagram. You stop shopping where I do, i wash the sheets we slept in, curled up together.
(But I’ll never quite wash you out of them.)
And when we stumble into each others’ paths, see each others’ picture somewhere, by some cruel serendipity; i can see your heart break a little, feel the old crack widen some, for your heart is still mine, and mine still beats in your chest.
(And you know it too.)
But we brush off the pain,walk away, scroll past. You drown it in pints of alcohol, I swamp it in ice cream and chocolate. Because broken hearts keep beating somehow, even the most battered and bruised hearts still march on. The mundane, the routine, the everyday still goes on. Mechanically, automatically. All the while, concealing, ignoring that nagging pain.
(Trying so hard to make it look like it’s easy.)
What if we had lasted?
Maybe we weren’t meant to. Maybe you and I were meant to melt into the forevers that were destined never to be.
(Like all our promises- broken glass and splintered wood.)
Until one day, it recedes to nostalgia and a distant, ancient ache. A bright, burning love, reduced to glowing embers and ashes. Ashes,dust, and the smoke of memories that we both tried to burn away.
(Not all love stories have a happy ending.)