And she woke up.
Her life was the sum of things forgotten, remembered, of things written down scrawled across paper & words that didn't last long enough to make it through the day.
And everytime she scratched lines onto the paper, she took a life.
She took away someone's story that could've been told. She ended the plot before it began and tried to breathe life into lungs that had already shut down.
She tried to apologize, to take back what she had done but the tragedy had grown and she couldn't fix it.
And her heart yearned for the two whose lives ended simultaneously but at different times in a life that was spiraling out of control- shattering at every interaction.
She couldn't fix them and they couldn't fix each other.
His last breath was her first and his first sob was the sound of her heart cracking because she never meant to take away their stars and leave them with a black hole, she meant to give them life but that in itself was short lived.
Sitting in a room, writing - it's more horrendous than you may think because thoughts are uncontrollable. They flow and we can't make the river run dry because we are slave to our own will & words don't come easily.
When they do, we cherish them no matter how painful & so her story began. But this story that told of two who died yet one lived as a walking corpse took something from her when it ended because it was no longer hers. It belonged to the interpretation of her imagination & those around her but her chapter ended with them.
Maybe some day another chapter will arise and we can see how the story kept itself alive but for now she will move on with her paper and those words scrawled across them in 3 am handwriting and tear stains. Until the next word, until the next life you give a story to, stay well.
From the unforgettable memories of someone who may not understand but tried, best wishes.
[If this one terribly catastrophic thought written down doesn't make any sense then feel free to message me. I'll be happen to explain what the intent & meaning was behind this when I originally wrote it but anything I write is always open to your own interpretation. This was actually written in the aftershock of tears due to the art of words being arranged on a page so beautifully by another.]
