in every page i turned
i read every promise you ever made
in every song i heard
i listened to the ways you had said you'd stay
in every movie i saw
the picture you painted of us shone more vividly
but i did not let those pages cut me,
i did not let those songs silence me,
and i did not let those movies blind me
because, like them, you were a story that was too good to be true;
although reality might never be as sweet
it will never be as suffocating
as i felt
when i was
i sigh contently as i wait for the last minute. thought each minute that passed seemed to tick by casually, these last few felt like every year prior. the first was the easiest – it was comfortable and childish. i want to know you, and it felt like you had already known me.
you became normal – a routine. had we met before? this year felt like the first; we were still childish, we were still learning while still feeling like we had always been one. this year was simple – this one was my favorite.
the third – the middle of a story. our story had been anticlimactic; there were no surprises, there were no fears or doubts. had you always hidden your colors? or was i just too busy rewriting the story to read between the lines?
it got hard, this is where the problem is usually resolved in a story. but in order for a problem to be solved, it would have had to happen earlier – but there wasn’t a problem. was there?
this was our last year – our last minute. every color jumped out of our already written pages. it had struck me so obviously, it almost blinded me. why hadn’t i seen it before? why didn’t you try harder?
i shut my eyes and shook me head. it isn’t your fault.
you’re trying right now.
you’re trying to be okay.
take a deep breath.
you have finally been forgotten, it’s a new year – and you are merely a thought of five minutes ago.