unreal stories with real angst

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i knew us like the back of my palm and i always dreamt that one day, when we’d finally get to walk our own wonderland, i’d know us like the inside of my palm. the side that’s more convoluted, has more secrets and takes time to be familiar with. which is why when you asked if you could hold my hand, i gladly shoved my heart into your front pocket and let your warm hand take mine. i swear it felt like magic, like a lost dream. i felt like a scene from a book. it was so real that eventually i came to believe that we were a fucking novel.

a novel. you knew how much that meant to me because you’d seen my love for literature evolve. you cherished my little scribbles about you, you even carried some around. you once even wrote me a goddamn poem. i still have it stuck with permanent glue in one of my journals. i thought we’d run away like that, you know. your hands in mine, dreaming till the sun came up. really, what else could it be?

but then one day i think i felt your finger twitch. looking down, i saw your fingers unravelling like a garland of death. i looked into your eyes, they were unwavering blue things staring at a future that seemed to be miles away. i couldn’t see this future, only you could. my instincts panicked before i could make sense of your movements. i sneezed on purpose, can you believe that? it provided me with an excuse to pull away from your grasp which had already loosened by then. our hands were now free. i looked up, half expecting you to give me a questioning eyebrow movement of sorts but you didn’t even notice. you kept looking at something, at someone, some place i couldn’t see.

your future was too bright for me. i had to let go. this time, for real.



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