The Story of You

by founditonapostednote


You gave me a few pages, paragraphs that sometimes meant something at some points; I can’t seem to remember.

I let go.  Your chapter ended.

–The unkept memory of you, the faded writings of our past–

I move on from the sentiment.

And I feel renewed.

My present is fresh. My future is bold.

I saw through a different lens.

Your dirty window was a pristine memory that I could create.

I was searching for a way out. A way to get back to where I remembered I would be.

It may not have been over.

 But I let go

so my book would not finish.

We could have had some thing that meant something sometimes. For the sake of comfort– your perpetual cure.

And I could have held on.

But I was meant for more.