Ideally.

Insecurities I wear them

an Armour

the war wounds of my past (mistakes) for you to see.

Songs I now can sing loudly and proudly

Music I believed told the lyrics of our waste

There is no red face now.

They are just mine.

And while loving you has always felt a blessing

and,

although,

I have no book of tomorrow

we read

Happily. Ever. After

My smug smile

With my indifferent shrug.

Because then there was You.

Storyteller

Always an habitual liar.

The constant pretender

Your stories shift around my head.

You were always dancing the finest line of fact & fiction.

I get to watch from a virtual far now

a quick toe dip in then out

eyes peaking through slits between fingers

breath held, tense, with anticipation

of What's Next.

I recall shouting once, many times, a then mantra:-

You Deserve To Be On Your Own.

a bad batch of feeling which had then taken hold.

But it was those rare omissions of then truth held me to you.

I gagged for more.

For when I saw you, really saw you,

Without

cloudy judgement.

Oh, pity!

I pitied the fool you are.

For you were just a storyteller who would never know a happy ending.