In the quiet of the night, where whispers fade,
I find myself pondering the love we made.
Was it a tapestry woven with threads too thin,
Or paths diverging, neither to begin?

I really wanted it to work, to thrive,
In the garden of our dreams, alive.
Yet, here we stand, at the end of the line,
Was it you, was it me, or simply time?

We danced in the rhythm of hopeful hearts,
Two souls entwined, playing their parts.
But in this play of love, where did we falter?
Was it in the script, or did our hearts alter?

I search for answers in the echoes of our past,
Moments of joy, hoping they’d last.
Is the fault in my stars, or the moon’s gentle glow,
Or two people just not meant to grow?

Our love was a symphony, a melody sweet,
Yet somewhere along, we missed the beat.
Was it because of me, or because of him,
Or was it simply a light that grew dim?

In the silence, I find a gentle peace,
A realization that love sometimes must cease.
For hopeful love, though it may bend,
Is a journey, not a destination, even in its end.

So here’s to the love that taught us to dream,
In its ending, a new beginning’s gleam.
For in the ashes of what once was true,
Lies the hope of a love, both bold and new.

Scribbled Scripts Starts Stories is a unique blend of soulful, self-reflection, packed into storytelling that will transform your life from the inside-out