She walked into the break room. Putting coins into the soda machine. No doubt caving to her sugar cravings, while avoiding solids.
I couldn’t help but gaze at her. This girl, who I loved. This girl, who I wanted to hold. To tell that everything would be okay. This girl, who tried to destroy me.
The front she puts up, easily crumbles as I walk by. Her trembling body. Spilling her change across the floor.
Leaving the room, leaving her. Sighing what could have been. What beautiful story we could have told. It was just a fantasy that I escaped into. Building her up into something she never was, something she could never be.
That story was never going to be told. The story we have now was the only one we were ever going to tell the world, it was the only one we could share with you. It was a cruel story, a bitter story that cut deep, filled with pain and self-destruction. But it was a genuine story, pure and raw. Thus, in its own way, it was beautiful.
