I still have the letters of yesterdays that are now seemingly remnants of a fragrant dream. They now start to stain, the edges dull and permanently creased. They look rather beautiful, actually. Every now and then, I love to trace my fingers along the thick folds of the envelope that holds the secret of a thousand dream that's died.
On some crazy rainy days, I love to spill them all in a wild array of tear soaked confetti and lavish in the secret rapture that I alone, for a time, held the throne of your heart. And the selfish bliss that is peddled by the knowledge that you cried and bled for me, too. We were beautiful and we had gilded dreams together.
But as all forces must come into balance, our amity blinded us to the folly of love, ever thinking that it is fair. You are still a stubborn pig and I hate you for loving me less. I don't blame myself for ever thinking that what you can give me is never good enough because even during the times where you loved me the most, you never did give me the love I know I deserved.
Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to dance alone in a song that's meant for lovers? A song that's been birthed and will die a myth.
I have finally found myself in the course of chasing after the wind of the impossible you. I am glad you happened and much more so, I am glad that we're past this. I am glad that there's still and us.
Someday, I will tell my story. My story with you in it. But as well as with him. I am truly blessed. I would only be so proud to say I had two great loves in my life.
But only, you are not my destiny.
