Your story ended, so I will rewrite it.

I promise you -

This time there will be no monsters

No evil stepmothers

No wicked witches

This time there will be no hospitals

No painful radiation

No months of chemotherapy

This time there will be no surgery

No doctor’s appointments

No shaved heads

This time there will be no hurting

No scans

No bad news

I promise you -

This time you get the fairy godmother

This time you go to the ball

This time you meet your prince

This time you don’t get sick

This time you get to grow up

This time you stay

I promise you -

This time you get your happy ending

You wove a tale so splendid;

no flaw did you omit,

but your story has ended,

so I will rewrite it.

I'll edit out the dull points,

begin in middle age-

it's when I made my entrance,

the first to steal the stage.

I'll pen you as the hero,

but shift the point of view;

present you to my kiddos-

a man they never knew.

They'll hear of fun and laughter,

of bold eccentricities,

and love that lingers after

you slipped away from me.

I'll focus on your morals,

the strength within your hands,

the poignant times that shaped me;

I'll make them understand-

The prequel to my epilogues

was a humble, wond'rous man

whose spirit will guide my scrawls

until I write 'The End'.

The author of our destiny

Poured all your ink into the sea

Of sorrow’s night, our hearts bereaved

Your story ended suddenly

So, I’ll rewrite you on my heart

Where chapter, verse shall never part

A novel-fresh, you present, starts

On lily-white, a work of art

I press each flower where you lay

Extract the words from fresh bouquets

’Til candlelight discards the day

And moonlight sheets cover your grave

Your fragrance floats through jasmine

dreams

Forget-me-nots of teardrops stream

On lattice of remembrance leans

Our sequel, stitched, to mend raw

seams

But, earth sowed to eternity

The end is spoiled, our garden’s eve

My favorite page, grief marks a

crease

The hyphen of the you, then....we

You saw me

You liked me.

You conquered me.

You made me dependent on you.

You moved on.

You left me.

You want me to beg.

You want me to mourn.

You want me out of your life.

You are happy.

Your story ended.

So I’ll rewrite it.

You will see me again.

Just like the first day we met.

Shining eyes, my joyous smile,

Then you will miss me.

I won’t be a victim

Rather I will be a

Victor

The threads of my thoughts create my fabric of life

Swirling with the spinning skirts of all my favorite dresses

Brushing the bodies, legs, clothes of others near me

Our thoughts and our lives intertwining forever

Every stolen look and each blushing glance downward

The laughter, the hope of our unsteady friendship

Someday becoming more than “just kidding”

More than just a wink from my best friend, your sister

More than just a friend I didn’t realize I had

Our story ended the day after I left

I promised I’d write but all I had was your email

It never worked, I tried, I promise

We danced apart, further and further

You dance with someone else, someone I don’t know

My story moved on, and I only now look back

On happy memories, on joy and maybe love

Your story ended, so I will rewrite it

With an ending that I didn’t ruin for us

Your story ended

so i will rewrite it

delicately

describe how undervalued

and underrated your chapters were

i will tell the story

about the times you hid

even though you wanted to be seen

and that courage was your most precious

attribute

that your eyes sparkled with life

even when they took you away

and i’ll say i miss you

til i can no longer speak

i’ll say your story ended and

i miss you

without a doubt

i miss you

and i’m exhausted

i miss

i

A tear, A cry, A goodbye - {renata ferretti}

It's been 6 months, 3 days and 17 minutes Since you left me. Since you tore out the pages that made up your book and cut the future short. Red ink was all that remained when you left me, this puddle this void, I felt it. So I picked up a journal, little and blue, and I began to write. I started with a date, The day you said your first words to me. Then, I wrote your name, It felt so powerful to see it in dark ink, to look at the curves, the letters my very own hands drew up, It Breathed. That was just the beginning.

After I wrote your name, I started your story, everything you'd ever told me, fleshing out the little details, the snarky stories of your siblings, your strange relationship with your parents, the breakups, makeups and grungy little details. I found my solace in the writing, you were the best Muse I'd ever had. I kept going, page after page, With every word I felt your skin, the touch of your hand on my arm, the brush of invisible kisses on my temple as light as paper between my fingers as I turnt the page. With every word you came back to me and with every word I cling to the memory of you.

Until one day, one day I ran out of stories to tell, I felt you fading. My heart was filled with anguish there was nothing I could do. What could you do if words were not enough? If you'd run out. I searched for years for answers and found only one. To bring you back.

Now I stand, in my room, surrounded by a pillar, a table cloth with indecipherable symbols, I find myself chanting your name along with a string of latin, I'm shaking now, the power coursing through me, my heart palpitates, the wind picks up to match. I'm crying now, it feels like I've run a marathon.

When suddenly I hear it, For the first time in a long time, it's you.

"Hey," your voice is hoarse, your skin pure white and paper thin. "I got your letters."

Hey. This story contains suicide.

I didn't have the exact words "Your story ended, so I will rewrite it."

I wrote it, and didn't know where to put it without interupting the flow.

The version I have fits better, I think.

I just kinda let this guy out.

Also I like the pairof names, Milo and Albert (Al). They might appear in future stories.

This is one hundred percent fictional.

He looks up. He swallows an antidepressant. He tries to stay positive.

He wakes up at exactly 6:00 AM.

He gets dressed. By then, it's 6:10.

He takes his pills. 6:15.

He eats breakfast. 6:40

He walks to school. 7:00

He's there until 2:30.

He walks home. 2:50.

He Does his homework. 3:30.

His father gets home. 3:35.

His father screams at him until 4:00.

He cries until roughly 4:15.

He showers. 4:30.

He practices his guitar. 5:00.

His mother gets home. 5:10.

He helps her cook dinner. 6:00.

They eat. 6:30.

He gets his bag ready for the morning. 6:45.

He makes sure his room is pristene. 7:00.

He sleeps.

Rinse.

Repeat.

Every day.

Until he talks to his father.

This is where Andrew's story begins.

It's 3:30. His medicine has worn off, and he has finished his homework. He is ready to talk to his father.

3:05. Time is flying. His father walks into the door. He starts to scream.

Then, Andrew yells back.

He gets hit.

Andrew is furious.

This was a break in routine.

Andrew broke his routine to try and help his father.

And got hit for this.

He shakes his head, then storms off to his room.

He cries, and wonders when his father will realise what he has done.

Tonight, he broke routine again. This time, he is awake until midnight, and his internal clock is ticking deafeningly.

He hides his father's alcohol, and then goes to sleep.

He goes to sleep.

The next morning, He continues his routine, but instead, he runs to school, getting there at 6:50, and tells his friend what he has done. Milo Is surprised, but he's also proud of andrew. Andrew goes home, and is mentally abused for even longer today, and his guitar is smashed.

Now, for Milo's home life.

Milo has a morning routine, too, but it's a lot less orderly. Wake up, eat, goto school. His mom drives him, and he's usually at school way before andrew is.

Andrew goes to school the next morning at 7:00. The right side of his face is severely bruised, and his arms are too. He avoided Milo all day.

At 2:30, when school lets out, Milo follows Andrew home, and hides. He had already told his dad where he would be, so that was taken care of.

Andrew, unaware of his stalker, completes his regular routine as normal, except for, thereis some alcohol on the table, and Andrew can be seen downing a few pill bottles.

Two days later, Andrew's funeral was held.

A couple of weeks after the funeral, Milo had succeeded in putting Andrews father in Jail for second degree murder.

Milo goes on to be a lawyer, and His brother, Al, becomes an author.

Al was also close to andrew. He tells his story.

Andrews father went to prison for 21 years. He got out and disappeared.

Andrew,

Your story is over.

So let me rewrite it.

-Al.

Al wrote this on a sticky note inside a diary that was later discovered.

You fought hard.

You fought well.

When you finally

fought your last,

you dragged your opponent,

down with you,

with a loud gasp.

You were a warrior,

a commander,

a soldier.

You never gave in,

fought it till your last.

You refused to give in,

refused to budge,

refused to go for treatment,

refused to go to the hospital.

I guess I got my stubborness from you.

I want to be like you.

Your story ended, so I will rewrite it.

I will continue it.

With mine.

I'll study hard.

like you told me to.

like how you did

even though you never got a chance

to even go to primary school.

I got into the best school for you.

I will work hard there

like you would have.

I'll be stubborn

fight against any challenge life throws my way.

Be a good daughter.

A good sister.

Like you were,

your entire life.

Waking up 3 in the morning

just to earn a few dollars

by rubber tapping.

Walking on the hard rocky roads,

barefoot.

I want to become a fighter like you.

I have a much easier life compared to yours.

But I promise,

to continue your story,

I will fight.

And I'll keep fighting.

She had poisonous fingers and sharpened nails made to slice.

You thought walking alleys was a good idea at night time.

You had locs so long and and persona so bright.

I was searching for a new name and quite frankly, a new life.

Your day had come, but I can't say I had nothing to do with it.

I knew her and had asked her to be the culprit.

So now your name is mine - my new identity seems fit.

Your story ended, so I will rewrite it.