The story that can't be told is about the "you" and "me" of old. Back when everything was warm, before the days started to turn cold. I'd go back to the place where we eat, but now it's gone and sold. We tried so hard to last but we both knew somewhere we got to fold. And yes, I'm talking about the story that can't be told.
It was brutally perfect at first, me, you, us, together it spells flawless. When I'm with you, I don't have to pretend and I couldn't care less. When you're with me, your smiles and laugh tell me that I am the best. You were mine, I was yours, my heart was definitely under arrest.
Shaking my head in disbelief, who'd ever think it'll go that way? Back then, I truly wished for you to stay. Then again, wishes aren't always granted everyday. I took a step back the last minute but your eyes already gave you away. You've made your decision, firm and strong, and that was okay.
Time to wake up, stand, and shake things now. There's nothing that we can do even if we raise our brows. I want to taste the freedom that only "me" can allow. To hell with the letdown, to hell with our sacred vow.
Hoping is out of the question. It leaves me bitter for your attention. A story made of bullet attraction. An ending of one-sided absolution.
Even epics and myths fail and end. Things that go up eventually descend. Yet those years with you were godsend. If only storylines can deviate and extend.
Skyline clouds tell me that ending us is just cliche. While memories of you bind me like a tourniquet. The stars will reveal your silhouette. Until then, I shall remember of how we met.
Erratic accounts of you might sustain me. I'm in a clutch lock and you might just be the key. I'll open my eyes at the count of three. And you are there, sipping your favorite cup of coffee.
Another hazy dream, another bleary swirl. Why can't I accept that I'll never be the girl? The girl who will be beside you when you die. Maybe, fate has something different for you and I.