the story of a letter

i had written a letter for Someone* about two and a half years ago. i couldnt send it, so i turned it into a short story. i hope at least someone finds joy in this, because i am over it. i found this lost in my computer somewhere, maybe published it will turn into the beauty it once was.

Dreams die, hearts are dark, white is bad and black is good.
Peter Pan is my boyfriend now; he and I will never grow up.

I read to you in the dark, and tonight I thirst for another sweet escape. What others find in a cigerette, I find in you. And even if you check out, I stay at your side.

But somehow you lost me in hallucinations. And i misplaced you among ideals.

The world is stuck in the id, but we moved away together
...into this cave.

To discover ourselves.

But if we come out of the dark and into the light will we still be a ballerina and a drunk poet.

...

I fall asleep in order to remember a day in where we danced to Dylan's harmonica. Perhaps, eyes have their own languages; maybe we just didn't understand what they were saying. i feel tired of these aviodances we find ourselves in, but I can't seem to forget those mornings in the winter it was only a year ago when those flowers grew on the spring tree that winter.

what can we possibly save now, if the glass of dreams turned into pieces of us.

______________
that was the end
el fin