it was and it wasn’t
I’d start with once upon A time but since there is only One time, it’s not fitting, even though I’ll be forever smitten with the idea.
So instead of that, Let’s try this, It was and it wasn’t. It all depended on how you looked at it.
This boy called this girl. Metaphorically. And she answered. Metaphorically. Her heart recognized in him the tools to cut her open and lay her bare.
So, of course, she ran. And quite quickly. Into the safety of oblivion and feigned ignorance. Why live with so much exposed?
If I empty out the bag and nothing’s at the bottom, Does that end it? She was fearful. He was relentless. Already moved by the hand of god, he knew not why only what and played his pieces accordingly.
Checkmate.
She was cornered. Alas the girl relented. Cut me if you must, she cried, but I will not go alone. As he drug his knife along her body, she balked at the pain she was expecting and didn't meet, for the pain she felt was deeper, harder, stronger than she knew existed.
But trailing each cut, a feeling of peace, love, joy infinitely more intense washed over her. Truth. He was cutting away her lies. The lies. All lies.
After the last inch of her soul fell to the cut, she grabbed the handle and pushed it back across his body. When he resisted, she relented. The boy though, he felt. And the tiny knick freed enough of what he had held within for so long that he willing thrust himself upon the sharpest edge.
And so they continued. Each cutting and being cut. What remained? Truth. Light. Love. It was real.
Rather, it was and it wasn’t.