and suddenly,
you were the fine print to my life's story.
you were the blunt, honest
truth
hidden beyond the soft lies i've written out.
i wanted you so badly
i forgot how to want myself.
a mistake readers often make
as we near the end of a book.
we don't want it to end
so we reread the paragraphs over and over.
as if the words could change
if we read it enough,
and the ending could be avoided.
you were hidden from view
by the curtains i hung on the window of my mind
but nonetheless,
you waited outside.
maybe the smaller letters
scrawled into your palms
never asked to be read.
maybe they didn't beg for attention
as i often did with you.
the real story had always been there,
maybe,
or maybe i just didn't read the ending.
maybe my eyes
weren't willing to skin the page
for who you really were.
or maybe
i was simply too caught up in your tales
to accept the fact
that you weren't my happily ever after.
