You are a fairytale written backwards. You start with a happily ever; the ridiculous illusion of your grandeur and beauty gobbled up by unadulterated hope,only for your story to end with a once upon a time. Your story, which is dotted red and drips the very color off its pages, smelling of blood and broken hearts. Hearts that would never have broken if you hadn’t’ come along with the curve of your smile and the curve of your neck and the curve of your waist and all your little curves that send all straight paths right into oblivion.

I’m sorry, i digress.

I come here not to praise you or sing sagas to your lips, but i think of them and this is the direction they lead me into. There would be a happiness without you, and i do hope for your sake someone finds a happiness with you, but for now, we can only taste the hopelessness in the air. The longing in our hearts blossoms, and to kiss you would be the end of us.

We survive on the breadcrumbs of your love cast towards us; always a taste of the forbidden fruit to keep us wanting more, yet never enough to feel full. Sailors shipwrecked on the promise of your lips, sending across messages in bottles too porous for the ink and paper to stay dry.

As the poet rightly said, La Bell Dam Sans Mercy. 'The Beautiful one is without mercy'.

You smile at the right times and you laugh at the right ones too. You touch with the grace and subtlety of butterfly wings; settling on us for a second that passes with us being too scared to move a muscle out of fear that you will fly away.

And you do fly away.

You are the ashen sky filtered through with dots of orange, and just when someone thinks the light is peeking out, you storm right in. Then there’s thunder in our hearts and falling rain down our eyes, but there is no light.

There is darkness, and the memory of you.

We start with a happily ever after, and ended with a once upon a time on our lips and your name seared into our necks like a fucking prison tattoo.

Prisoner number 143. Deceased and forgotten.