Dear him,
Our story had begun as fast as it ended. The chapters in-between were avoiding the inventible.
Our story is incomplete. The words I will never tell you are ones you will never hear from my voice. You will never hear my voice again. You don't deserve my presence or time. You were suppose to be the prince charming not the villain in disguise.
Our story is not one I will tell. It doesn't need to be told. Anybody can stare between us and saw that our flames burned out. You will never see my flame again. You treated me like a peasant instead of a princess. You caused the chaos in our plot.
Our story is sad, how it goes: almost, maybe, never.
Our story doesn't get a happy ending, but it gets a ending. The end itself.
Sincerely,
Her
YOU ARE READING
Written in the Paper
PoetryA series of feelings and unspoken thoughts. All poems/paragraphs written by me, myself, and I. A chaos of feelings I can only express through words. Enjoy. #438 In Poetry [8/20/16] #260 In Poetry [8/22/16] #102 In Poetry [9/0...
