We were kids in
love,
Whispering dreams
into each other’s ears
While Destiny’s
weaver looked on with a frown.
The threads of Destiny
Made no pictures
of gentle blessings
or fairy tale
endings.
Instead they wove
dark scenes,
Shattered hearts,
abandoned faces,
A cruel, unending
tapestry.
And while we lived
that tapestry,
We came unspooled,
Fiber by fiber,
piece by piece.
We found our own
needles
And began weaving
a new story
Into our skin,
Into our veins,
Into our hearts.
Because even if
this new story
Was woven with artificial
colors,
At least this new
story was our own.
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