Writing on the Wall

Alone in this room, I still cannot escape you. I read our story upon the wall and with each chapter that passes, I can see that we were never meant to be. I am the co-author, and though I know the ending, it still leaves me next to lifeless. How such a beautiful beginning be so tragic at its end?

The writing is on the wall and night after night, I wish to add to it. I’ve read this story for what seems like ages now, and no matter how many times I torment myself, the ending doesn’t satisfy me. I take up the pen each morning, but each night I find that I’ve written nothing.

Tomorrow may be different and I hope with the dawn, but not tonight. Tonight, I sit here and read. I study the penmanship. I study the familiar dance of your scrawl. With each forgotten dot of the i’s, I see as an unfinished masterpiece that you will come back to complete.

When I finish the story upon the wall tonight, I wish that when I wake that I will finally feel that it is done, but I know that will never be. I’ve tired to write you off for so many nights now, but I only find that I have writer’s block and need you to add to the last chapter upon the wall.

So I’ll leave the door unlocked and wait for your hopeful return to complete the story you and I have started upon the wall.

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    The handwriting on the wall…
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