Well I thought this was my beginning

I stood out on the precipice and stared into my future glory, imagined the accolades and all the people moved by my story. well…

Well I think mistook the initiation for the end because now all I see is regret behind me.

I’m not sure how the story unfolded but all I know is I don’t think I was the one turning any pages. I wanted to stay awhile. Sit here in the pauses between punctuation where I could create my own plot and cast of characters but it turns out you were the one wielding the pen. Well…

Well I tried to steal my words back and turn them into a weapon. Something to craft my retaliation for your supposed sabotage but for all the pages I wrote, nothing much was said.

You see I blamed you for my emptiness, screaming that you took everything away when it was I who wrote myself out of your story when I tried to control the narrative.

I didn’t like the character you had made me. I found her weak and left wanting. Insecurity chained around her neck like a noose of inevitability, kicking away the bucket in her attempt of escape. Well…

Well she found that vulnerability was no device to hang by but a rip cord to set her free. No longer suffocated by her own expectations, she could finally breathe.

I gave the pen back. I give the pen back, for you are wiping the pages clean. Let’s write the verses in harmony, for you and I as one were always meant to be.