My boyfriend and I have our ups and downs like any couple. We’ve been together going on six years in October. This piece was written two years ago. Reading it brought back bittersweet memories. We have grown tremendously since 2015.
The distance between us has grown. This future we try so desperately to build is nothing but a scam created by our futile imagination at the height of our relationship. We’re grasping for the little strands of hope that’s left scattered on the wooden floor from one of our many derange bickering.
What are we doing here?
Are we salvaging from the shattered mirror of what’s supposed to be our life? Or have we jumped from the illusion and now scurrying to our own ideal dreams?
Either way, it’s obvious. The love we’ve grown is as thin as ice. And on the surface engraved is our footprints side by side, faintly noticeable. But our footprints are just that. Memories of what was. If we don’t do something fast then the thumping of our accord would stop, but the hole left from its dance will be bottomless that our scars will be too excruciating to reminisce.