Today is the day.
Exactly one year ago,
there was you and me
spread out on the bed sheets.
We laid out our bodies for each other on easels
and you were my work of art,
all smiles and 'I love yous' and promises of forever
as I gave myself to you
and you gave yourself to me
on those rumpled sheets,
a perfect tale of young teens.
Now, no matter how much I will myself,
I can't recall that day without crying
because I know that day lead to the last few good days
I had before our chapter ended,
before you closed the book
on a perfectly good story
and left me with nothing
but a trail of empty pages
to pick up by myself.
Sometimes I wish
I wasn't such a sucker for fairy tales...