Way Ward

Tragedy

i.
When you walked into my life, I was in pieces. And you were my glue stick - but I was broken glass, and you couldn't fix me up.

ii.
When we kissed behind the bookshelves in that old bookstore, I kept on comparing your freckles to the stars dotting the sky, and your lips to flowers, where I was a bee craving nectar - but flowers often wilt.

iii.
I thought of you day and night. You were always in the crevices of my mind. Slowly, you filled me up, till I was complete - you leaving me, emptied me completely too.

iv.
Building myself from the scratch was difficult. I'd have to thank vinyl songs and used books for that. I related to them metaphorically - both of us were too good to stay for too long, and yet we never really left.

v.
I had never quite healed right. Everyone after you called me art, they said I was full of literary beauties... but they were just romanticising devastation. Only you had completely known me, but you were too wild to stay, and I was too rare to let go of.

vi.
We were a tragedy.