(and i was her sun, but every star burns out eventually)
It was a gamble, she knew that. She didn't care because to her it was all a joke, as if laughing it off made it less real, less of a threat. She tricked herself into believing that it wasn't real -- she pulled the greatest con the world has ever seen on her own mind, and her body paid for it.
She was callous because she was young and foolish and the world was made of hopes and dreams, volleyball and boyfriends and actions with no consequences. She was reckless because she could be, and no one could tell her otherwise because for all of her kindness she still only considered herself. Her path of destruction left broken, blood-splattered debris and it never mattered to her. She was betting on herself.
(I could have left it all behind but gravity attached my heart to hers irrevocably)
It ended the day her fairytale came crashing down around her. She bet too much, leaped off a cliff with nothing but the thread holding us together as her lifeline -- she had always pushed her body to its very limit, but every chain has a breaking point, and every quasi-resolution must ultimately fail.
(I was the duct tape holding her broken bones together, but she cut through my threads without even realizing)
She's cold now, so cold, and she was cold before but it's different because she felt the discrepancy in body and mind, the absence of something that was supposed to be there.
She doesn't remember what warmth is anymore.
(and I was her sun, but every star burns out eventually)
She bet everything on her last great trick and lost
(she was surrounded with life but death closes in)