She was a walking universe.
Her planets only aligning with her own naivety.
She had a way of making madness look glorious.
I trusted her for the reflection of this that I found within myself.
He came to her a storm; seeking chaos to feed his fluctuating ego.
He was an escape victim of his very own commitment to everyone he said he loved until he didn’t anymore.
I didn’t know the difference between love and infatuation when he was mine. I still don’t.
When she pulled a piece of paper with my name written across its folded edges, and placed it in my hand, I said “Thank you”.
Knowing what I do now, I wish I hadn’t.
The words on the inside of that letter chiseled away at my soul, until they shattered what was left of my glass menagerie.
When my world flipped upside down, I began to swim in an ocean full of backhanded apologies from the universe and her storm.
The words “I’m sorry” look a lot like an anchor when they’re held tightly enough in your hand in dark waters.
But they also look a lot like a maze if you hold them up to the light.
I am still working on finding my way out. I am getting closer. I consider this a victory.
Sometimes my thoughts like to go on scavenger hunts at 2 am, and the more questions I consider, the less answers find.
How many times did I tell you about him, while he was telling you about me? How many times did you rewire your mind until you thought this was okay? How many times did you read that letter before placing it in my hand?