And there were times when even she was unsure of what to scratch onto blue lines because life was always in the way keeping them apart. It was difficult to find truth in a world full of lies yet it was even harder to write down those truths. No one wants to hear the good when they can hear all that's wrong. It's a principle of life to live as if good is hidden from us.
From those who speak naively, she tried to understand why the world of stories and tales left her so early. Why did people stop believing in the written word? Why is the spoken word trusted so easily? What makes people forget all the memorable things? It was beyond her and the pen at the end of her fingertips to decide. Everything was out of her control now.
She lives and breathes like those around her but she isn't actually alive. There's no way for her to escape the endless melody of pain that comes with ending things so soon. She wishes to help them and fix their happily ever after but the pages are on the floor soaked in tears.
She waits for days for that fleeting idea to return so she can save what isn't lost yet but there's no hope anymore. The malicious comments have stolen it from her and her grasp is no longer strong enough to hold on.
The words pour out of her and she leaves them to grieve on their own. There's a new world forming itself but the help of a continuously moving wrist lends it's helping hand when the pages fall short.
The bass pounds in her skull and there's no way to stop the rhythm from flowing. She stayed away long enough and look where that got her. Lonely and cold, desperate for the end of the song that never comes.
The boy stares at her from the opposite side of the room as she looks up from the scattered pages. Their tearful gazes meet and she understands then more than ever. He's broken.
And she's the one who broke him.
If I could say sorry a million times, I would but know that not only would my whole heart stand behind my words of regret, my soul would back them up for eternity. I'd be left to face a blank stare and pick up the pieces to the intact yet broken figure that is you in all its defintion and glory. If I could save the world, I'd save you in it because I can erase my words but I can't erase all the harm I've done to you.
Don't fear what can't be see, fear what is visible yet hiding it's evil. I understand now that there was venom laced in my words but I couldn't rip the pages out fast enough to save you. Forgive me while I drown the rest of your story in ink and rigid lines of self destruction. This will not be the last of wounds but the first of pains for you and I; wait for it, run.
