How did we shatter our innocence?

Tripping over the laces we tied together,
building homes solely out of old memories,
finding comfort in our worst pieces of skin
and calling it love at 3am
crying about insecurities and infidelities.

Darling, how can it still be called love
when the fires are burning down our sanctuaries, and our sanities?
How can it still be called love
when our foundations no longer mimic the Great Wall of China,
or stand indestructible like the concrete Pyramids of Egypt?

We are paper thin
and just as fragile
as the tiny paper houses
we used to make out of playing cards.

Our hands no longer fit
like perfect puzzle pieces -
they mimic sheets of sandpaper instead,
scratching out every ounce of sincerity
we once engraved into each other's palms.

Our footsteps fall separate octaves away,
out of sync and out of touch,
in this **** grand scheme
somehow labelled a masterpiece.

We were once flawless.
But now we've just made flaws
out of every single thing we used to fall for.
Now, we're just flawed.

gd