fairytale endings

i love clichés.

i love the prince sweeping the girl off her feet, the wildly impassioned

elope of the star-crossed lovers, the rich boy falling

head over heels

for the poverty-stricken damsel in distress.

i love cuddling under a warm blanket on the couch

bowl of popcorn in one hand, remote in the other as we flick through the channels

searching for horror movies that i hate yet watch anyways,

peeking through my fingers to see the end.

i love the idea of growing old with you, rocking back and forth in worn wicker chairs

reminiscing about the good old days when we were young

delighting in the grandchildren running between our legs

spoiling them with cookies and brownies and adoration.

i love the misunderstandings

pushing away their lover to spare them the pain, saying that it’s for their own good—

but then they say, why do i feel so sad?

maybe it’s because they sacrificed themselves for their significant other.

i love the angst-ridden stories of unrequited love and tempestuous fights

a broken heart strewn about a flat littered with torn photographs

ceramic shards decorating the floor, remnants of a porcelain plate thrown in rage

leftovers of spiteful words and pure unadulterated fury, of shrieks ‘til throats are sore and glares frightening enough to murder the devil. 

now i stand on a cold cobblestone street, watching the taxis pass by

overcast skies mirror the frigid rain that falls from them

i watch the fat droplets, rolling down a car window, sliding down my cheeks and drenching my hair—

i can still feel your touch on my skin, your burning fingers imprinted on my body.

i’ve tried scrubbing, crying, and everything else, but i can’t forget you.

your soft touch ghosts over my scars

you send shivers down my spine with every memory.

i stand there in the rain for who knows how long

tour buses pass by, carrying tourists unaccustomed to this weather.

they can probably breathe fine, but me?

i’m hiccupping, unable to stop crying, gasping for air, feeling my throat burn

icy blasts of air chilling me to the bone.

i can’t fill my lungs with enough life

can’t get enough warmth to defrost my frozen limbs

can’t forget about you enough to move on.

i remember my pretty pink bedroom back at home,

my barbie bedspread and my collection of princess dolls

i’ve always wanted a fairy tale ending—

who would’ve thought that i’d be standing on the corner of a busy intersection

drenched in water

frozen to the spot

heart locked and chained, lips zipped and key thrown away?

i love clichés, but i never thought i’d be living one.