He stumbles,
She trips,
They fall,
In love?
Surely not,
For love is just a facade,
It’s not real,
It’s not the truth,
Mrs. Waters, she liked the sound of that,
He’s dead.
He left her, a widow of a marriage unhappened.
It’s been a year and a half,
She thought falling in love was like falling asleep,
Slowly and then all at once,
She was tricked into a coma,
Waking up to find her love,
Lifeless,
His body cold.
So, so, cold.
Was it her thoughts, stars, the ones she could never quite fathom into constellations, that killed him?
Was it the heat of their love, the heat of the sun rising, the heat of the stars burning out as the line symbolizing his life, flattens.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Fault In Our Stars, that would be John Green.
