We were happy once. Maybe it was a season of joyful moments that made us believe in the kind of magic we grew out of: Fairytales where no one is saved. Dreams about falling without the bottom caving in when you crash. Either way, I swear it all meant something.

Stop saying that every chapter ends, because you reread it when you feel sad, I’m sure of it. I found dried tears that smudged the ink and they’re not mine.

I’m a stranger to myself, but not a stranger to you. I’m searching for missing pieces in broken people, and every time I reach for them, I cut my hands open. So while I hide away and lick my wounds, maybe you can teach me how to heal and write an epilogue to our story: Tell me the secrets to getting better. Tell me how happy we once were and swear that you still are. Tell me how my name isn’t followed by a tear- that saltwater never healed you anyways. Tell me the fucking truth. everything. -AMT©️