"I really don't think this is supposed to work Harry," her murmured followed,
By the clouded suspicion in his eyes on her empty wrist, and his demeanor hollowed.
I stood afar, against the doorway, steady-eyed watching their altercation unfold,
In cursive writings and letterings of my fortune, on an already bled lore.
The lore where I'd buried his crimes in her bag, of his illicit reveries,
Words that read how he never saw her more than just a fulfilment of his fantasies,
A trophy hunter for a buried treasure, I'd narrated in his soliloquies,
Wanting her in all the wrong ways, like incompatible similes.
The rose-colored relationships, in a different light looked shades of rust
Everything that's to be built and becomes, comes down to dust
The mismatched alternating definitions of best and worst
If this story didn't begin with a once upon a time doesn't mean it's not a chapter first
As I set the red drinks for two on the neatly laid table for her and me
Sipping about my newfound could've beens but with her chair still empty
I knew now what was meant for me would never pass me
As long as I didn't leave space for another path to slip between.
YOU ARE READING
TogetHER On Pages Of HIStory
PuisiA verse novel that weaves through the woes and wonders of life and experiences - metaphoric to love. It redefines finality to the point that it becomes more like a beginning to second chances. Chase is determined to get her, despite knowing the imp...
