This is not a fairytale.

This is not a fairytale.

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WpMetadataReadOngoing<5 mins
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Mon, Jun 26, 2017
Once upon a time, I was kicking with the kid.. breathing his breath .. while he was all up in my shit.. I mean, space. he was in my space. Move nigga. ignorant , out of place. .. all up in my space. I needed to get away. " Goodbye "was what I was trying to say because it's a struggle to love a person that's out of place.. But... wanna be all up in your space. Move nigga. He did. He said "See you later". But i knew when I hugged him, at the corner store it was a 'Goodbye' for the kid. Once a upon a time I love you, But all that shit is gone, I flushed it down the toliet with all the other lies and deceit tissues from when I cried and napkins, from when I couldnt stop bleeding, and almost died. I'm disgusted with the destruct. And now when i think of you, I think of 'Yuck'. You're really a whole ho' out chea' but. . I wish you the best of luck. .. And She lived happily ever after, with a God sent being, that showed her the difference between the Court Jester and a King.
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A few months ago, I bought a mug with gold gilt. On sale. Not a gift either nor because of an occasion to remember by it. Just plain, pretty mug for 15PLN. I drank my coffee from it since. I spat loose tea leaves into it. It never felt particularly significant. An ordinary object. Only when I lost it, I realised its true value. I sat comfortably at my desk one evening. Looking at my phone, I reached to take my song-text notebook. Trivial situation. My clumsy fingers were unable to avoid the mug. They allowed it to topple over, to slip from the desktop. Even though I did not see the split-second occurrence, I felt the pressure of unease. My head painted the trajectory of the fall on its own, the shattering, spillage. The loss. For a millisecond I still had hope, that I would be able to catch the mug, that I would be able to avoid what was about to happen. But I knew I was headed for failure. I don't have any superpowers. I only scalded my fingers. I looked at the mug's new shape for a long while, at the shattered pieces. At the spilling liquid. Our adventure came to an end. Irrevocably. I won't be drinking coffee from it anymore, nor spit tea leaves into it. Well. I shouldn't be sad, it was just a regular mug, just like thousands of others. I grew to like it, it kept me company throughout hundreds of warm drinks. I lost it. I hate this feeling the most. In the moment when I am losing something, I stop in my tracks, I hold my breath. It is always a very intense moment. A short one, but one that gives me the tight unpleasant feeling in my stomach. The feeling of loss is always accompanied by hope. Silly and naïve. Making me believe so strongly, that I can make it. That I will still be able to catch the mug mid-flight. When the feeling is entering the body, crawling into me I realise, how important it was to me. Whether it's Nivan or a stupid mug with gold gilt.

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