i will never admit that i had doubts as my name was announced.

fear, i recognised its sound, concealed my face by a mask of proud,

because my beliefs are what now walk me down the aisle to be crowned

for what i’m renowned,

not my weakness newfound,

that consumes me as my heart finally feels what it is without.

 

what if the fault is not in our stars,

but in myself for thinking i knew any better.

what if all along my sword was drawn for a lost cause,

what is a glass heart that doesn’t crack under pressure?

 

glances from the table next to us,

will never turn to chances at the current one.

dances I recount to my friends now covered in dust,

they won the race before I noticed it had begun.

 

it is you that haunts all of my anecdotes,

i know how to create distinct versions from one story.

i wish that book back against all of my hopes,

because you’re still the owner of the only time someone saw me.

and walking down, i feel the ghost of your hand on mine.

the farthest stars do shine but seldom align.

 

you gave me up

because the aisle was not something i could walk down.

not believing in luck crept up on us,

and now i trip in my gown when i see a ghost of you in town.

 

paid for my own drink but attention was where i drew the line,

the beliefs of a cider ago died,

as you sat there and waited for a sign.

i hid my wounded pride and later cried;

the wrong thing was what I replied.

 

is the question really whether it feels right,

or the answer that ensures you have something left?

i would’ve been standing by your right,

but now I accept my tainted crown all alone and by reflex, glance to my left.