Things do not end because they weren’t meant to be, but because they were. Predestined, planned, timed, like a stage play, to be seen, to be experienced, to be felt,
to be learnt from.
As soon as the play is done, and the end begins, actors should take front-row seats and watch their own work- what they could have done better, what they should do and not do
in the next play, as opposed to regretting that they took part in it in the first place,
as awkward as it may seem,
as much as it may hurt.
You, my Knight of Swords, my prince; me, your princess, asleep. You sucked death out of me- my lips, your lips; first, it was the mouth, then it became the nipps; you made me a new person, from my hair to my feet.
My death settled on your tongue, it poisoned your words, and with each passing day, you reminded me that I once was dead, and that I owe you my life. Our fairytale was over, my prince was killing me, I was dying again.
We are going to play Ex and Oh today, me and him. I’m preparing to have the best lines, give him reasons to spit “oh”s. I miss him terribly, I love him still, but the feeling isn’t mutual to me. He seems to have more than enough “O”les at his disposal. So today, I place an “X” on my heart, today, I cross the bullshit.