fairly tales

my destination is as clear as the focus of my camera.

the stories in my head are misleading blurs of light
and i strive in that direction; i move towards the end
of the tunnel that seems to shroud my wishes, dreams
and all kinds of wonderful pretends.

oh syracuse,

once upon a time, this girl loved a boy.

he sat in front of her in one class.
sat behind her in another.
and she loved him from faraway,
from up close,
and she kept loving him,
in those distant memories, never
once asking him his name
and when he married,
she was happy
because

her heart never broke once

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Filed under Christal (dearskye.)

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