Please remember me, fondly. 

By the rosebush, laughing 

With bruises on my chin,

The time when 

We counted every black car passing

Sad songs. They make me feel … safe, but alone. Does that make any sense? Sad songs make me feel connected with you. They make me feel connected with the girl inside. The one that’s hiding behind a mask of laughter and jokes. The one that feels every scratch. Every scar. Remembers every word. Every heart beat. Every tear. The one that can’t let go of the feeling that there was supposed to be something magical. That this was supposed to be our fable. One for the books. One for the ages. 

She’s a silly girl though. Still believes in fairytales. Still believes in true love. Still believes that the good guys get a happy ending and that the bad guys get what they deserve. Still believes that there is such a thing as good and bad, instead of the grey that just settles on every living thing. 

What happened to us? I don’t mean what happened to you and I; I mean what happened to us as individuals? What happened to me …? How did I become such a pessimistic, broken young woman? How did I become this mess that I am? How did I let myself get this far? What steps did I take that changed my path so drastically? Was it each step or was it just one step that tied my fate to this path I’m on?

Sometimes I force myself to think about you and try to cry. I just want to see if there’s anything left. When I think of your name… When I see your face in my mind… A dull pain burrows into my heart, but there are no tears. There seems to be resignation tinged with just a drop of indignation and defiance. I guess I’ve always been a stubborn little girl. Stubbornly holding onto the idea of hope and onto the idea of true love and fate. No matter how much you show her the world; no matter how many books you force her to read, she will still always go back for the tale of Tristan and Isolde and convince herself that it’s still possible. That these love stories couldn’t just be the fancies of a writer, but must have been based on real people with real hearts bound together with twine and thorns. 

Where does my red string go? I thought I saw a glimpse of it, but perhaps it was just the sun in my eyes. A trick of light making me it’s fool. Perhaps it was the imagination taunting me. We’ll see. Fast forward, and we’ll see. 

– L 

I miss you, R. I miss who I was and who you were. I should have held on to us tighter… should have held you like palms cupping water. I’ll carry the thought of you with me. 


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