Fairytales are stories that never finished. That was the last thing I said to you as I walked away. Our story had an ending. An ending like a car crash. Like knowing the train is coming but it felt more comforting to stay parked on those tracks. Sifting my fingers threw your hair as you looked up at the stars and I just couldn't seem to look away from you.
I smiled as you slept and we laid under the stars that night. You would soon tell me that the weekend you went out with your friends you made a huge mistake. I imagined burning buildings and sirens. You told me another man had explored your body. I imagined you inside of the burning building.
I remember the hours after like smoke filling my lungs. You pleaded your love for me and the amount of sorries said were like cutting through glass. You had told me "you're my fairytale ending!" As I walked away and imagined that burning building getting ready to collapse, I tell you, fairytales are stories that never finished.

Take my hand guide me through this crowded room, dance me to the end of love. and I will lead you into this beautiful dance called us . Mr. Cohen told me the future is ******, but I am trying to live into now. See the crumbling obstacles and tear them down. I was falling and I felt your hand reach out, but that is old news now. Ill take you in my arms, and embrace what life is now.

And in a blink, my perspective switched.
all we had,
all I thought we had
turned into a feeling of discomfort
and no longer love.

Your words were then stale
like the emotions you felt towards me.
I was simply a bridge
to get you to her,
your one true love.

Little did you know
I am the most unstable bridge
you could have ever walked across.

Little did you know
once I saw her perspective
I saw the real you
like she always has.

This bridge has been crumbling out from under your feet
so you better learn to carry yourself.

our bodies fit(    your breathing
lockingin2-1   .breathhhonmy
another so      neck draws (  to
p. r. e. c.      ME IN you ) ouT.
i. s. e. l. y.     Time. is /running
it’s -HARD-   out/ everysinglu
to-take-them    larbreathhh cou
a    p   a            ntsd        10
    r             t              o 9        8
) …buti                w     TicK.
ca              7                  n
               nts            6       5
ta                  4
                 y,                        3
s            o        r           2       To
   r                           cK.
          
                           1
                  y/

Tracing crumbs on my page
Moving the pencil to meet their point,
But they jump away
Afraid of fixed
Dead certainty.

Blowing them away with a breath
They fly on,
Now impossible to mistake for
The graphite kiss my pencil gives
When I accidentally place it to paper

Gone, like so many,
Crumbs of people met in life
I suppose we are all
Crumbling.

That smell
of burning skin
like the way I felt when lying
on the bathroom floor

is not the same
as the hollow places
when I take up only a fraction
of the vastness in these bedsheets

but the worst part
is that metallic taste
of bitter end
with every single breath I take

when I can't shake off
the sheets of blood
or knowledge
of what I've become.

Six years old
My pretty box
of pretty things
a little girl's collection
a pebble, a purple sequin, a lock, and a sticker, pencil leads, and a rose petal I found on the ground in the rain but I ran back to save it.
Precious things
Collections of the young will always remain a mystery to the jaded adults who grew out of simple happiness far too long ago
Then one day
My box slips off the counter
and I search desperately in the carpet for my pretty things
tearstained face and choking on sobs
not my pretty things
not my pretty things
I find my pebble
I find my purple sequin,
my lovely silver lock,
my special sticker,
all three pencil leads,
...but my rose petal
is gone
except for a couple crumbling dried pieces of it
on the ivory carpet
and the rest of it could be anywhere
I can't find it
it's gone
it's gone
my pretty, pretty rose petal that I loved so much
that I saved from the rain
...but sometimes even if you save something... or someone...
from the rain and love it for a long time, when things fall, you can lose them forever, knowing they are crumbling and not whole anymore
but you can't help them
What you save and love,
you can still lose.

Repost if you had a box of pretty things when you were little.
Comment and tell me what they were, I love to read comments :)

If Love could fall in love
Maybe She would leave us mortals be
Maybe She’d quit cursing us
If She could feel the agony
Of seeing the one you love in your mind every moment
And knowing they can’t see you
Not in the way that you view them
But you can’t let them go no matter what you do
Or if she could feel the anguish
Of loving another soul so much it hurts
And that love is why it hurts so bad being unable to forgive them
After they shove you in the filth and dirt
When someone who has passed this life
Is the only one your heart can think of
That crumbling feeling might halt Her cruel games
If Love could fall in love

If Love has hurt you before to, please repost.