Sit me down and tell me a story.
Wind the lines and thread the needle as you sew together the characters and scenery, thickening the plot and adding some magic.
Make me a princess. And you a knight.
Turn the pages and show me the pictures. Feed me the words of once was and forever after.
Tell me your lies, painted in fiction and fantasy.
Hold me close, your voice like the honey of your eyes, and I’ll listen, cuddled warmly against your skin.
Whisper the lines you so desperately want me to believe.
In comfort, I’ll listen and let you hope that the layer of betrayal beneath the beauty of your words won’t peek through.
Won’t show until the story is over.
Sadly, I know. I see.
I know about her.
I know how you crossed the lines.
I know how we danced around each other, the fair maidens in your lies, carefully twisting around you till you were bound and tied.
Your words tumbled from you. You fall mute.
The threads you weaved and the words you spoke mean nothing as the pages fall from your hands.
Here we stand, your fair maidens each with a page in hand, wondering how you meant this story to unfold.
I’ll never know the whole tale. The spaces in between the truth and the fiction will forever be blurred and I’ll be left with an unending story that haunts.
Too bad your words turned sour and your lies became your truth.
The story is done, and we must remain
stuck in between the li(n)es.