This blog is going to be the second home of the Reddit 2SH folklore series I run in the Two Sentence Horror subreddit.
This series focuses on awareness of lesser known folklore entities. Every month focuses on a different region, and each day I write a story based on different folklore entities from that region, and readers guess the entity. Once it is guessed I post a folklore blurb about the entity.
The largest difference between this blog and the reddit series is until I reach about 50 followers I will not include the guessing game. The other difference is I have about 210 stories and folklore blurbs I need to transfer over before writing completely new content on both platforms at once.
I have about 8 months of content to transfer to this blog, so it will take awhile and I won’t get started for a week or so.
However new content not on Reddit will be posted here in time. I have not decided exactly what yet, that’s the other reason I need a week or two.
I hope you enjoy my writing and the folklore about the entities that inspire it.
Chapter 3: you showed me colours you know I can't see with anyone else
This chapter happens before the other two chronologically. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get another chapter out. Honestly, I just ran out of steam. I'm going to have a break with it now and maybe come back to it when I'm a bit more inspired. Based on illicit affairs.
Love, Maria
The evenings were the best, yet the worst time of the day. The darkness could hide them, leaving them wrapped together in secrecy. And yet that inevitable time of night would come when he would have to leave. If he left it in the morning, he would be seen. It was the same for her, though visits to his home were much less frequent.
They lay on the sofa watching a documentary, as he curled her hair absently around his fingers.
‘What are you thinking about?’ she said, trying not to fall asleep. Him playing with her hair always did that.
‘Nothing’ he mumbled.
‘I can tell you’re thinking about something’ she said.
‘I’m not’ he said bluntly.
She knew not to press it. It would only make him moody and she didn’t want to waste their time together.
She lifted her head from his stomach and kissed him on the lips gently. His eyebrows were furrowed like they always were when he was worrying about something. But nothing could mellow him like she could.
Within a few seconds he was kissing her back, his hand running fleetingly over her back. The documentary was forgotten, as was his bad mood.
*
Two hours later, they lay still on the sofa. Both of them were wide awake, knowing that it was a bad idea to fall asleep.
She stared at the street light coming through the window, grateful that her flat in Soho was relatively hidden down an alleyway.
‘I should go’ he said at last. He said the same thing every time and she dreaded it.
He pulled himself out from underneath her, a little too fast for her liking.
‘A fuck and chuck tonight is it?’ she said spitefully, knowing she’d hate herself for it later.
‘What?’ he said, immediately fired up.
‘You heard me’. It was almost like a routine now.
When their relationship began, it was exciting. It was a thrill to hide from the world. To never have to worry about what her friends and family thought of him. Or what his thought of her. But it had been two years and that magic had worn off. She was in love with him, besotted in fact. But recently their nights had been filled with tension and arguments.
‘We’re not doing this again’, he said pulling up his jeans aggressively.
She got up, putting her clothes back on, ‘of course, why would you want to have a conversation when you got what you want already’.
‘Don’t be so ridiculous’ he snapped.
‘You know, I don’t get why you don’t just find a fuck buddy, it would be a lot more simple than doing this’ she said.
He took a deep breath, ready to argue back, then stopped himself. Grabbing his keys and wallet, he headed to the door. ‘I’ll call you’ he said, without looking at her. Before she could tell him not to, he was gone.
She grabbed the closest thing to her, the TV remote, and launched it at the door.
*
It was three days before he called her. Their conversation was short, he asked her if he could come over and she agreed. She wondered if there would ever be a time where she would say no.
As they sat down for dinner that night, her resolve came back.
‘You know you make me feel like a fool’ she said, picking at a piece of pasta.
He looked up from his plate, surprise etched on his face. ‘I do?’
‘Yes’ she said plainly. ‘I make myself available to you constantly, I give up time with my friends so I can see you, and I can’t even tell them why’
‘I don’t want to make you feel like that’ he reached his hand out across the table and held hers.
‘I think we should…’ she started.
‘Baby...’
‘Don’t call me baby’ she said, pulling her hand away. ‘This isn’t a relationship, it’s a secret’
‘Of course it is!’ he was getting frustrated again. ‘I love you, only you’
‘Then why won’t you tell anyone about me’ she looked him straight in the eye now.
He pulled his hand away ‘you know why’.
It had started when they decided to keep their relationship a secret. He had told her he didn’t want her to be taken away from him, to have to share her with the world. She had thought it was sweet at first, but after two years, being someone’s secret was no longer romantic.
‘Are you ashamed of me?’ she asked.
‘No’ he said, running his hand through his hair.
‘Then tell people about me’ she said, asserting herself for the first time.
‘You said that’s not what you want’ he replied. He was right, she had always said she wanted to maintain her freedom.
‘I changed my mind’. She took her hand from him and stood up, placing her full plate on the counter.
‘Since when?’ he asked.
‘Since now’ she lied.
She didn’t want him to tell the world about her, not really. She wasn’t ready for that.
‘I just want you to want to’ she continued. ‘I want you to be proud enough to show me off to everyone’. She curled her hands around the counter edge.
He stood up and placed a hand on her back. She shrugged it off.
‘Look at this mess that you’ve made me, begging just to be acknowledged’. She couldn’t stop the tears now, though she refused to let him see.
He followed her into the living room, ‘if that’s what you really want, we can work something out’, he said, his tone measured.
‘I don’t want to work something out!’, she was angry now. ‘I don’t want you to give it a second thought, or to plan…’
He cut her off, ‘it’s not that easy’
‘And it will never be easy, we’ve been fooling ourselves that it would’
He took her by the hand again, ‘let’s just have some space’
‘Space’ she repeated.
Something inside her shifted. She knew there would come a time when they would have to make this decision. It seemed he had just made it. His choice not to beg her to stay, to take the easy option and put distance between them so he could reel her back in, said everything.
He had made his mark on her, showed her colours he knew she couldn’t see with anyone else. She had waited for the day that he would cast her away for someone that could live his life. It had never occurred to her that she could be the one to end it.
She led him to the door.
‘I’ll call you’ he said, as he always did.
‘Don’t’ she replied, her eyes pleading.
He placed his hand on her cheek and stroked it gently.
Somehow he understood, at last. He knew that for him, she would ruin herself. And he couldn’t be responsible for that.
With one last look at her hazel eyes, he turned and walked away.
Hey everyone, when I finished writing Will and Kate nearly 7 years ago now, I felt like there really wasn't anything else I could say about them. And that's still true to an extent. A gave me the request/idea of writing something based on folklore/evermore and I love those albums as much as everyone else. They are incredibly inspiring and made me want to write. But I still didn't know how to make those into a William and Kate story. Until I realised that they didn't have to just be a William and Kate story. For that reason, I've written this without names. When writing it, I was thinking of them some of the time, and fictional characters some of the time. I wasn't going to tell you that because I didn't want people to not read it because of that. In the end I decided to be honest. You can use William and Kate as the characters, but equally you don't have to.
This story imagines what would happen if this couple had been apart for a few years and reunite for a weekend. It's based on 'tis the damn season. I really hope you enjoy and would love to know what you think.
Love, Maria x
Chapter 1 : You can call me babe for the weekend
In a small cottage covered in ivy, she stood in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil. Her hand twitched on the counter as she tried to resist the urge to look at her phone again.
Two days previously, she received a text that had made her heart lurch.
I’m in the area in a couple of days, can I come and see you?, it had said. Short and straight to the point. He hadn’t changed in that regard at least.
She had taken a few hours to reply. Of course she wanted to see him - partly out of sheer curiosity. But it had been three years since they’d last seen each other. And the decision to end things hadn’t been easy.
Eventually, after a few hours deliberation, she had replied with the address of the place that had become her sanctuary. And now she waited.
She poured the boiled water into a mug, added a tea bag and cupped her hands around it. She looked over to the old grandfather clock in the corner of the living room. In half an hour he would be here and she still hadn’t decided what to say to him. Or how to act. Instead of thinking about that, she had busied herself with cleaning the cottage top to bottom until there was not a speck of dirt left to wipe away.
She took her tea upstairs, each step creaking as she went. In her bedroom, she opened her wardrobe. Sitting down on the bed, she stared at the rows of clothes hanging up waiting to be chosen. None of them seemed to convey what she wanted to say.
I’m fine without you.
I still want you to find me pretty.
I don’t care what you think.
No piece of clothing could express that ridiculous combination of feelings. She got up and sighed, looking out of the window. It was 7.45pm now and already dark. The trees outside her cottage swung in the wind, the branches tapping against the window.
Going back to the wardrobe, she closed her eyes and ran her hand along the row of her clothes and pulled one out at random. It was a deep maroon knitted jumper dress.
‘That’ll do’ she said out loud.
Earlier in the day she had decided that she wouldn’t wear any make up. Why should she? But now, looking in the mirror, her face seemed tired and lifeless.
She grabbed some eyeliner out of the drawer and applied a wing onto her eyelids. A curl and a dab of vaseline on her eyelashes, and tint on cheeks and lips made her feel slightly more presentable.
She glanced over at the clock on her bedside table. 7.56pm. He wasn’t usually late. She took her mug downstairs and placed it in the sink, considering washing it to pass the time.
It was then she saw the headlights trail through the kitchen window. Taking a deep breath, she paced the kitchen listening to the sound of the engine switching off and the car door opening and closing. The crunch of his footsteps on the gravel path came closer until finally there was a soft tap at her front door.
*
He was the same as she’d always known him. Strong arms with the sleeves rolled up, piercing eyes that saw right through her.
‘Can I come in?’ he said. She suddenly realised that she hadn’t heard his voice in three years. She hadn't thought she’d missed it until right then.
‘Oh, yeah, come through’ she said, stepping aside.
He had to bend slightly to fit under the doorway. ‘Made for short people’, he said as he closed the door behind him.
‘It’s good to see you’ he said, those eyes surveying her.
‘You too’ she said. ‘Do you want a drink?’.
‘Sure’ he followed her to the kitchen, looking around at the tiny ground floor. A fire crackled under the living room mantlepiece, and cushions and throws were scattered around. ‘Lovely place, very you’.
She grabbed some white wine from the fridge without asking him what he wanted and poured out two glasses.
He took it gratefully and they sipped in an awkward silence. The grandfather clock ticked loudly and he walked over to look at it. Presumably just as something to do.
She followed him into the living room and sat down on the couch, her knees tucked under her. She moved a few cushions around to make space for him, placing one on her lap for comfort. He sat on the other side of it, sinking into it.
‘So why did you text me?’ she said, stroking the stem of her glass, faking nonchalance.
‘I told you, I was in the area’.
‘This isn’t really an area people come to visit’. She looked out of the living room window behind them. Although it was dark, he knew what she was referring to. She lived in a small village technically, but her cottage lay in a secluded area surrounded by woodland.
She had moved here three years ago as an escape and she loved it. It was just cut off enough to be peaceful, but not so far that she didn’t have people to turn to when she needed them.
‘Ok, the surrounding area’ he smiled. ‘The truth is I’ve been thinking about you recently’.
‘I’m sure you have much more interesting things to think about’ she said, looking into her glass to avoid eye contact.
‘Anyway...how have you been?’ he said, changing tack.
‘We don't have to do that’, it pained her to have small talk with him when they used to sit in such comfortable silence.
‘Do what?’ he looked genuinely confused and it occurred to her that maybe he couldn’t read her so easily any more.
‘The small talk thing, you can just tell me why you’re here’.
‘Ok’ he pulled in his lips like he always did when he was thinking about what to say, ‘well, the truth is I was coming to this side of the country for work and I wanted to see you’.
She smiled for the first time that night, ‘this side of the country?’
‘Yes, well I realise I might have come a bit out of my way’.
They paused and looked at each other. Their old dynamic started to shift back into place. The light teasing, the subtle looks.
‘Anyway’ he continued. ‘I guess I just wanted to see if you were ok. I never liked how things ended, you know that’.
Their break up was business-like. When she decided it was over, there were no more tears and arguments. Just a simple acceptance. She had packed her bags, wished him well out of courtesy and built a wall so high that not even he could break it. It had frustrated him to the point of madness. She refused to hug him goodbye. She didn’t even tell him she was moving away.
‘It’s what I needed to do’, she said, holding the cushion closer to her.
‘And now?’ he said, hope etched on his face.
‘Now...nothing. We’ve moved on. There’s no point in reliving it’
‘Have you...moved on with someone?’ he asked.
‘I didn’t mean it like that’ she got up and poured more wine into her glass even though it wasn’t empty.
‘Would you hate me if I said I was happy about that? I was dreading you telling me you had found someone’.
Her heart skipped, realising he was right behind her. She didn’t turn, not wanting his eyes on her.
‘I could never hate you’ she said quietly.
‘I’m not with anyone either, I broke up someone a few months ago, she was -’
‘If I wanted to know who you were hanging out with, I would’ve asked’, she said, breaking him off. When she was uncomfortable, she became curt. He knew that, and he would always challenge her on it by refusing to take offence.
She felt him come closer to her, ‘I’ve missed you’.
It was the words she’d dreaded. ‘Don’t say that’, she replied, tightening the cap on the wine bottle as hard as she could.
‘Why not, it’s the truth’, he placed his glass on the counter. Clearly he was done with the niceties.
‘If you’ve come here to try and mess with my head, don’t bother’, she moved past him and put the wine bottle back in the fridge.
‘Why on earth would I do that?’ he said, trying not to fall for her favoured method of pushing him away.
‘I don’t know, you said you’d broken up with someone, maybe you’re lonely’.
‘I told you, I miss you and wanted to see you. If I was lonely, I could go elsewhere’.
She couldn't help but laugh at his arrogance.
He ran his hand through his hair, ‘how has this turned into an argument?’.
‘We’re not having an argument’, she said plainly.
‘Yes we are, and stop pretending that you don’t care’.
So he could still see through her after all.
The wind was picking up now, battering the branches harder against the cottage. They both knew there was nothing more to say. That they’d just go around in circles if they continued to talk. And she wouldn’t give him an inch.
Instead, they did what they knew they would as soon as he sent that text. What she knew would happen as she applied the colour to her lips earlier.
He reached out and pulled her in by the waist and she clutched at the fabric of his shirt at his stomach. When their lips met, she felt it all over her body. The ache of the last three years passing between them.
*
They lay tangled together in bed staring at the ceiling.
‘Are you ok?’ he said.
‘Yeah’, she turned to look at him. ‘Are you?’
‘Very much so’ he laughed softly, ‘I’ve missed you’.
‘You’ve said that already’, she teased.
‘I thought you might believe it this time’, he placed his hand over hers on the bed covers.
‘This can’t be, you know, a thing again’ she said carefully.
‘I know’, he said. ‘Not much has changed in my life, I didn’t expect to come here and take you home’.
‘Do you ever wonder why we never could make it work?’ she asked him, letting him play with her fingers.
‘Yes...and no. I knew you didn’t want the life I had to offer but I couldn't let you go. If I had stopped it earlier on, it would’ve saved us a lot of hassle’, he looked at the ceiling again as he remembered the two years they had together.
They had been happy, when it was just them. But it would never be just them and they both knew it. He was relentless in finding new ways to keep her close until he couldn’t anymore. Time alone became harder to find and the longer they went on believing they could be a normal couple, the less realistic it became. Eventually, after two months apart, she put an end to it. And she ran as far as she could. She knew he would try to maintain contact so she cut herself off from everyone they knew and stopped taking his calls. It had worked, for three years at least.
‘Do you want me to go?’ he asked, knowing that she would ask him to at some point.
She turned and rested her head on his shoulder, ‘not if you don’t want to’.
‘You know I don’t want to’, he placed his arm above her head and ran his fingers through her hair.
‘Stay...for a day or so if you want to’ she kissed him on the shoulder.
‘I can stay for the weekend’ he said.
She closed her eyes, knowing this would only end in heartache. ‘Then I’ll be yours for the weekend’.
*
The weekend was spent basked in the kind of peace they’d never find in the city. They took long walks around the woods, hand in hand. She pointed out the plants and wildlife and he soaked up every word.
In the afternoon, they just drove around the winding lanes, the mud covering his tyres. Sometimes they would talk, but never about the past, reluctant to let it in. At other times they’d drive in silence, her hand on his knee. Soon enough they’d get back to the cottage, restraining themselves until they shut the cottage door.
Inevitably, they’d end up warm and content under the covers, watching the autumn leaves flutter past her bedroom window and sleeping for the rest of the day.
Afterwards, they’d cook together and drink wine on the rug in front of the fire, her legs laying on top of his, talking about everything and nothing.
But time couldn’t stop for them and as she sat in bed watching him button up his shirt, that ache filled her again. It was an ache he too had in him, put there by her.
‘Am I going to see you again?’ he asked as he tucked in his shirt.
She put on a smile even though she knew he would sense it was a fake one, ‘maybe one day...just promise me something?’
He looked at her wrapped in the covers wanting nothing more to climb back into that warm bed.
‘Don’t wait for me’ she continued.
He bowed his head, looking at the floor, clearing his throat, ‘then don’t ask me to stay’.
She nodded silently.
He knelt on the bed and kissed her on the forehead, taking in the smell of her one last time.
‘I’ll see you out’ she said, running her hand over his forearm.
‘No stay here. It’s better like this’. He got up and opened the bedroom door, taking one last glance at her.
Somehow he knew, whatever road he went down, it would always lead back to her.
Prologue: If one thing had been different, would everything be different today?
The smallest action can change a life.
Saying no instead of yes, turning left instead of right, walking out instead of staying put.
These actions, however tiny in the moment, can send a life on an unexpected course. They can cause a person to unravel, or to stitch themselves back together. They can bind you to your soul mate, or tear you apart. But most cruelly of all, they can deny you a life that you seemed destined to live.
Those moments give us the power to embed ourselves into someone’s life. Or erase ourselves forever.
For one woman, seemingly destined to be someone special, gone would be written recollections tattooed forever in print. Instead, her story would be passed down through folklore. No longer would she be the main character, but a note in the margins. The memories of her would gather dust in the minds of those that once knew her. And those that once loved her.
Hi again and thank you for your comments on Chapter 1. As with that one, Chapter 2 doesn't use her name, but actually I was imagining a Kate-like character for this. We meet her again a few years after the 'weekend' in Chapter 1 and find out what happened because she didn't ask him to stay. I'm enjoying this format because it's nice to go back and forth. We'll meet some of these characters again in future chapters and fill in the gaps in the story. As always, I hope you enjoy! Based on champagne problems.
Love, Maria x
They thought she was strange. She always knew that. They tolerated her because she was his girlfriend, but there was an unspoken acknowledgement that she wasn’t their usual type of person.
As they drove up to the house, he sensed her discomfort.
‘You ok babe?’ he said, taking her hand.
‘Yeah of course’, she said with a tight smile.
‘You look nervous’ he said as they parked outside the house. His dark brown eyes could make any woman melt, and they did regularly. Everyone they met told her how lucky she was to have him.
‘Oh you know, all your friends and family in one place is a bit intimidating’. She left out the part where she felt they all hated her, that she wasn’t good enough.
He picked up her hand and kissed it gently, ‘don’t be silly, besides you have me’.
He gave her one of those smiles that lifted her spirits when she was doubting herself.
They got out of the car and he handed his keys to the valet. She thought it unnecessary to have a valet for a family party, but would never say that of course. She wasn’t one of their people.
The frontage of the house was imposing. Five steps lead up to the entrance, stone pillars framing the large oak double doors. The noise from the back garden rose and fell, reaching them at the front of the house.
At least she looked presentable, she thought. Even if she didn’t feel it on the inside. She wore a champagne coloured sparkling cocktail dress. The way it folded and wrapped around her body was reminiscent of the Greek statues they had all around the acres of their property. Her long brown hair was styled with half of it up, and the rest falling in waves around her shoulders.
He looked even better. His light brown hair was such that you could run your hand through it as many times as possible and it would still maintain its perfect mix of roguish and smart. His cropped beard was a new addition, making him seem more mature.
The doors opened and they walked in, hand in hand. The perfect couple.
*
‘Oh you’re here at last!’ a woman came rushing towards them, champagne in hand. Her hair was coiffed neatly in a formal bun and she wore a dress smart enough for a wedding.
‘Hello mum’ he said, kissing her on both cheeks.
She took her cues from him and did the same to his mother. She smelt of expensive perfume and hairspray. ‘Hello Dorothea’ she said, ‘happy anniversary’.
‘Thank you dear, you look lovely’, Dorothea said with a slight purse of her lips, only noticeable to her. ‘Now come come, the speeches are just about to start’.
Above them, hanging from the landing was a sign with the words Happy 30th Anniversary Dorothea and Christopher painted on cloth.
Dorothea led them through the entrance hall, the parlour and the second kitchen to reach the back garden. The garden was lit up beautifully, lanterns hanging from trees and stuck in the ground. A string quartet played under a pergola as the guests milled around.
A clink of a glass signified that it was time for the speeches. Christopher went first, showering his wife with praise and thanking the guests for coming. Next was the friend who introduced them, followed by Dorothea who only spoke to introduce her son.
All eyes were on him as he began his speech. ‘Thank you all for coming today. If you didn’t know, I’m Josh, their favourite and only son’.
Josh spoke glowingly of his parents, their love for each other, and the happy life he’d lived as their child. Looking lovingly at her now in a way any woman would dream to be looked at, he told the enraptured crowd how their example had taught him how to love.
She was touched at his words, knowing they were genuine. But there was a numbness in her, one that had managed to push further and further down since she had met him. Tonight though, it was different. Something had changed.
*
‘I’ve been looking for you’ Dorothea said, appearing through the French doors from the garden.
After the speeches, the guests had rounded on her and Josh, some surveying her like she was the prized calf. She couldn’t stand being the centre of attention. She had been desperate to get away from everyone for a few minutes, so had hidden in the kitchen.
‘Sorry, did you need me for something?’ she said, startled.
‘Yes’ Dorothea said, taking her by the wrist and leading her out of the kitchen, ‘I want to show you something’.
They followed the grand staircase up to one of the many bedrooms. There hanging on the curtain rail was a white satin gown with pearls running down the sleeves.
‘This is the dress I wore 30 years ago today, it looks like new doesn't it?’ Dorothea said proudly.
‘It’s beautiful’ she replied. She wasn’t lying, it was a beautiful and opulent dress.
‘I’m glad you like it’ Dorothea’s eyes twinkled with delight - and with the many glasses of champagne she’d drunk. ‘Because you’re going to look lovely in it’.
Her heart stopped, ‘I-I’m sorry?’
‘It’s a family tradition, and as I have no daughters, you’ll be wearing it’.
She didn’t know what to say. All she knew was that she wanted to run.
‘That’s very kind’ she said eventually, ‘but Josh and I aren’t engaged and - ‘
‘No not yet’ Dorothea blustered, ‘but one day soon I’m sure, now I must go see Joshua about something’.
Dorothea rushed out of the room, leaving her alone with the dress.
She stroked the fabric and turned it to see pearls buttons all the way down the back. Taking it off the rail carefully she held it up to herself, looking in the mirror. It was what she’d dreamed of as a child, so why did that fabric seem more like a vice, those shining buttons like clasps that would suffocate her?
All she wanted at that moment was to be out of there. Back safe under the covers with someone who didn’t have any expectations of her. Back to three years ago when she hadn’t even met Josh. Back to when the weight of other people’s opinions didn’t crush her.
She felt guilty for even thinking about it. Josh was a wonderful, kind man who she didn’t deserve. She hated herself that he could never live up to him.
*
The party had moved inside as the air outside became cooler. She tried her hardest to speak to everyone, but their judgemental looks weren’t lost on her as they were on Josh. He was on the landing, when he tapped his glass to announce another speech. Her heart sank, please don’t do this. He gestured to her to come up as the guests congregated in the entrance hall.
His friends were grinning ear to ear, the same friends who sniggered when she told them that she lived in a one bedroom cottage in the middle of the woods.
‘Quiet please’ Josh shouted, commanding the attention of those in the hall beneath them. He placed an arm proudly around her waist.
‘We’re here to celebrate mum and dad’s anniversary, so I want to thank them for letting me share their special night. As you may know I met this wonderful woman three years ago. I knew immediately that she was special…’
Her heart started beating out of her chest, her eyes silently pleading with him to stop.
‘In 30 years time, I know that we’ll be just like them, celebrating our anniversary’, he beamed and turned to her, getting down on one knee. The crowd gasped in delight beneath them.
She froze, unable to express how much she didn't want this.
Out of his pocket, he pulled a ring, a large round diamond with smaller diamonds surrounding it. ‘My love, this ring belonged to my mother and now I want it to belong to you…’ he began.
She couldn’t hear anymore of it, it was as if the edges were blurring around her. She noticed he was holding her hand, ready to slip on that ring and she pulled it away slowly.
‘Please...stop’ she whispered. But he clearly hadn’t heard her as he was still talking. She said it louder this time ‘I can't, please stop!’.
It was as if the air had been sucked from the room.
He looked up at her like a deer in the headlights, ‘what do you mean?’
‘I can’t do this’ she repeated. ‘It’s too much’.
He stood up, and speaking quietly he said ‘I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have done it in front of everyone’.
‘You shouldn’t have done it...at all’ she said, tears brimming in her eyes now.
‘What are you talking about?’ he said with the pain of a wounded animal.
‘You’ll find someone else and she’ll make everything better’ she assured him, even though she didn’t believe it. She thought finding someone else would patch up her torn heart too, but it hadn’t worked.
‘You’re not making any sense, this is what we wanted’ he said, confusion etched all over his face.
‘I’m so sorry’, she took his hand and squeezed it, knowing it was the last time she’d do that.
Without looking back, she turned and ran down the stairs, leaving him crestfallen on the landing.
She heard him calling her name, begging for her to wait. She heard the murmurs of his family, mortified at his expense.
‘She would’ve made such a lovely bride…’
And she heard one last thing from his friends as threw herself out into the air.
‘What a shame she’s fucked in the head’, they said.
it's folklore month, and I’m starting a little folklore series — poems inspired by the haunting lyricism of Taylor Swift’s folklore album. I wrote these back in 2020 when it came out so it's like little me (who was 21 at the time), so hope you enjoy while I recall how I used to write.
this one echoes the soft ache of the 1 — that lingering thought: what if you were the one?
I had a dream you were with me
Woke up with the nostalgia of how I used to sleep next to you
Been doing some shit, yeah I'm happy
But sometimes I think we were something, do you?
If you were the one,
We would be riding horses
Above the clouds, making love,
We would be fighting foxes,
It would have been adventure
But you are with some different girl now
You take her to places, you plan shit with her
We used to laugh at these people
Who would think and do the work.
You shaped who I am
In my twenties I was left with a broken smile
I laugh at how we promised our love
Well I know well enough
It would have been fun
If you were the one.
But it's true,
The magic has been lost,
I'm in love with my new dreams,
Some of them include you,
None of them wish you back to me.
But still if I wonder and wish to ask you,
If that one thing didn't happen,
That one fight wasn't fought,
If that one word wasn't said,
Would we'd still be here now?
Would it all have been different?
Sorry to salt your wounds,
I hope they're not fresh anymore,
But answer to me once,
Do you sometimes find me when you look into her soul?
poem title: If You Were the One
inspired by the 1 — Taylor Swift
part of my folklore series — poems for each track
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