Broken strings & Pretty things

The world, seen through a young girl's eyes.

Crumble.

I was never the kind of girl to let the past dictate my present, so I refuse to let your ghost jeopardise what is in front of me.

Because lately I’ve been walking down dark corridors, wondering whether I dare muster the courage to open yet another door. I’m being confronted with the same towering exit as before, and I don’t know whether I can risk facing the same fate  if I unbolt that lock.
Because you burned bridges for me. You built walls without my input, invisible to me until I realised some people just couldn’t pass through. Though we have not spoken, and probably will not speak, your sickly spirit dwells in every crack and crevice of every relationship. Those faded grey eyes streak every touch, and that faint caterwauling of your voice still whispers in my ear.
“He’s just like me. He’s holding you just like I did. He will do the same as me.”

I’m haunted, and in dire need of an exorcism. Because no matter how many times I embrace the calmness in the emerald of your eyes, I fear they may suddenly grey. I’m scared your clumsy mumble will stiffen and shriek. I’m scared I’ll open that door and fall into yet another chasm of betrayal and false hope, even though I know that you are safe.
Though I am certain that you are in no way like him, I can’t shake the clenching fear that you could one day change, just like he did.

Because all it takes is a flicker of light, a change in the weather, a drop in the ocean, for a person to change. All it takes is a step too far; a barrier too close to be broken for the light to burn out and fade. A fair face can just as easily become a scowl.
But I trust in you, and I trust your words. I will believe sense over zealous sensibility and refuse to let a sob story eradicate a happy ending. I will never stop saying it: you are worth it.

As the key fits into the lock, I prepare myself not for the worst, but the very best that I know you are.

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