i'm slow dancing with the idea of losing you. it's not painfully tender, there's about as much desire to be here as there is in a middle school cotillion. i feel gutted with each step and i'm sorry. i'm sorry i led you to believe that i could be loved. i wanted to believe it too, if it helps. i wanted to be the girl that got her fairy tale ending. i could've. i got the story. i got prince charming, by some miracle. or curse. either or.
i'm slow dancing with guilt. i got the fairy tale beginning, couldn't i have just faked it? a carved smile wouldn't diminish the happily ever after, i'm sure. the hollow feeling in my chest would've gone away. maybe. hopefully. you know what, probably not. history may not repeat itself, but boy does it rhyme.
i'm slow dancing with no one. i scared you off. isn't that what i wanted? isn't that everything i've ever wanted? the hollow feeling and carved smile are still here. huh.
i'm slow dancing with myself. i can't scare myself off, try as i might. the mirror hasn't become less foreign but it has been the one constant.
