Altering Splinters

I already predicted before the story began that I would be left standing alone, with roses in one hand, and my failure in the other.

Little did I know that I was walking through each page, cramming myself in between letters to a story so cliché with no happy ever after’s. That this one didn't end with sunsets, running away, or with love decorating our sentences.

Finales of broken promises, raining colorful papered hopes and dreams, parading in my journey from one struggle to the next, dripping in disappointment every time.

Calluses over calluses partnered with blisters of histories of bruises, of walking the same pages, and cramming into the same words, trying not to lose our pages this time, and fold into a life not lived by these books, but an endlessly altering splinter.