Love Story

Faith
was a myth I never quite
believed.

Trust
was a lie, a few
empty words.

Love
was a story I wrote
for you,
and you took it away
so easily.

I turn the pages
but you changed the ending.

(c)

When I met O, I had such hopes and dreams for us; just as I had for every other past relationship. He was to be my saviour, a knight on shining armor to rescue me from every mistake I ever made and every man who ever made me feel worthless. At the time I believed that nobody – not a single other person in the whole world – felt as much for somebody as I did for O. I adored him. Clung to him like a limpet. Demanded his attention 24/7; at the time, I honestly believed I was doing the right thing. I thought he appreciated knowing just how special he was to me.

And for a long time, we wrote a love story together. O was just as attentive and clingy; demanding to know who was texting me or why I’d not answered my phone. We were perfectly destructive for each other, but the constant friction created a passion which kept us coming back to each other, time and time again. 

Then it all changed. He broke free of the bonds we’d created and walked his own path. I thought I had the ending all worked out, but he added his own epilogue. 

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6 Comments

  1. We were perfectly destructive for each other, but the constant friction created a passion which kept us coming back to each other, time and time again.

    Admirable honesty here and I guess if – in hindsight – we look at mistakes we made in love – we could all be wiser – but probably would not learn. But at the time of it, love is love is love and we are carried away with the love of love itself.

    It is sad the love opens the door to the potential of great hurt…but I think a risk worth taking.

    Big hugs.

    Anna :o]

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