Thestoryofusseries Stories

Both acts were written deliberately, three years apart. One at sixteen. One at eighteen. When love is lost, a poem can become the only escape from hurt, pain, and sorrow. By fifteen, a spark had already gone out. At sixteen, writing was the only thing keeping me, myself, and I intact. At seventeen, I believed that all's well that ends well. At eighteen, clarity arrived-along with realization-and I was dragged back to the moment where betrayal first destroyed me. In time, my curse will linger; my words will find their way into your mind. You took my youth, and it was unfair-always has been. By the time you're reading this, you already know who you are.

I, Ivan Cairo Marcelo promise to meet you Callie Sullivan after high school graduation here under the azadirachta indica tree on summer. *pinky swear* Both names are carved on the tree.