It's been so, so long since I've wrote one of these. And I thought, as the first story I post in 2012, I should write a free-verse.
she's been pulled so
t
i
g
h
l
y
she's afraid she'll snap in half
as he kisses her lips&neck&placesshedoesn'twanttomention
her heart constricts and e x p a n d s and she smiles
softlysoftlysoftly because she's won
Victoire has come out victorious
(This isn't everything you are)
she whispers promises of a better life
(something better than empty cupboards and broken memories)
into his ear
he smiles
h
a
r
s
h
l
y
she cannot see this, because it's a secretsmileforhimandhimalone –
because he doesn't need her promises
but he wants them
(love, there's a thin line between need and want, and
we both know you both want and need Victoire)
to inflate his already too big ego
(This isn't everything you are)
in the morning, with the freshbrightlogical sun shining
on her dirtyagedtough face,
she sees his lie
plain
as
day.
Victoire sees years and years wasted on this
minuscule man
kisses&memories&love&time
and
and
and
i n n o c e n c e
she whispers a question, a question that means
absolutelyeverything to both of them.
where did it go wrong,
my dear?
and neither of them knows the answer,
because they were so caught up in the
magic
joy
of a famous relationship
and they were too busy watching
other people, to notice
eachother
Teddy smiles
(he hasn't done that in a while)
and answers, we could've been so much
m
o
r
e,
Victoire.
(This isn't everything you are)