The Tart’s Daffodil

We were a timeless conversation piece among the old photographs kept on the mantle. Aged red wine from a cold damp cellar and electricity. Me, tangled in a dreamcatcher. You, catching diamonds in the sandstorm, tired of saving the last dance for someone who would always show up with somebody else. They feared us for they believed we were all that was wrong with the earth. We were martyrs, turning tragedies into masterpieces. Me, asking the stars if they had any wishes. You, asking the sun if it needed any light.

Then one Monday, meeting over coffee, in a room where dreams were scattered like confetti, we raised the bet. “I see your hopes and I raise you one reality check”. You called it, “Nobody told ever told me about the pain of falling out of love”. Well, the first rule of magic is to never say how it is done.

We walked off. Me, addicted to loneliness, praying on forever. You, running back to the heartbreaker. But lightning rarely strikes the same place twice. See? Even the sky knows better.

So that night, we flipped the switch on gravity. You, rose in love. And me? I fell for the stars.