She clings on to the last cup, pulling the string taut.
Faint wisps of stories waft her way.
With half her mind in the new anecdotes and half in them that sustain her.
So what happened to her without the stories?
Well, she didn’t die. She can live without them.
She didn’t stop smiling. She can giggle without them.
But, the adrenaline takes on too much
And her laughs are a lot harder.
Something had cracked ever since, and maybe other things had seeped in,
Cuz she looks new
And she feels different,
And when the thoughts flood in
centred around the stories,
She goes and stares at the stars, and;
The moon looks pretty lonely too.