The first time I felt it we were in the trees.
Laughing amongst the branches, running like idiots in the woods. We were oblivious. Listening to the song in the air, breathing in the words. Caught up in our own private fairytale, that we ignored the cruel truth emerging around us. The crunching of the grass made me giggle; you turned your head at me with a look that a fiction writer would only dream of. I choked on the feeling. As though the air in my lungs was being sucked out by a vaccum. The trees fell and the music stopped. The reality of you and I taking over. Why don’t I feel something? Why don’t I love you? You were supposed to be mine to love, and I yours. When did this thing stop working? I want a refund. I want a replacement. But this was no fairytale, this was a tragedy. They don’t live happily ever after in this one.
You see, we were just two kids trying to find a home. Granted, a home built on lies and false hope. But a home much the same. The broken foundations masked behind our botox smiles. The plastic melting away. We tried so hard, to change salt to sugar. To create something between us that would work. We became shells of our former selves. Caught up in the web of lies we spun trying to portray the happy couple we were known to be. Becoming accustomed to the ember less kisses and the cold embraces that solidified the distance between our two souls.
This was not the love story we had hoped for. This wasn’t love at all.
Only salt claiming it was sugar.
And two kids, hiding in their broken home.
- Hannah Comrie
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