The stories you told me were always so promising, about little girls
with orange lantern cheeks and eggshell lips. You would call them paper dolls.

But at the end of every one, the paper doll girl wouldn’t find her prince,
and her heart would flicker and fade like dying lights.

‘Am I your paper doll girl?’ I asked once, watching as you bit at your chapped lips.
I’m pretty sure that was when you started to crumble.

‘Only if you want to be,’ you rasped, and let go of my hand that you had been holding.
A breathy sigh left me. ‘I don’t, because I want to find you.’

‘You should have started looking a long time ago, then.’

The day after you left, I made a chain of paper dolls and wrote ‘me’ on every one.

I was going to send them to you, but I forgot. They’re still on the corner
of my desk, collecting dust beside my broken vase of dead tulips.

I wouldn’t know where to mail them, anyway.
Because I still haven’t found you.

- Miss-Deathwish (on deviantart)

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