Strangers in Fiction

This is it: the latest draft of our manuscript
But as these pages fold and expose
The problems I’m not willing to admit
Our only tragic flaw, we’re gardeners, not architects
Planting seeds only to watch them wilt
We should be digging in the trench
Until the structure topples just like meter in a song
Skip the page when you reflect on it
Still wondering, “How could this go wrong?”

Victoria, tell that story I love
Take it slow, you know I love the prose
If the setting changed, would the ending stay the same?
If the plot’s too slow, then you can choose your own

Pick up the pen; this can’t be how the tale ends
The twist was way too obvious for a second installment
If only we had known about the tragedy and loss
Whatever chapters you might chase you’ll never save me from this epilogue

Victoria, tell that story I love
Take it slow, you know I love the prose
If the setting changed, would the ending stay the same?
If the plot’s too slow, then you can choose your own
Our only hope is the finale feels like home

What if I break?
What if I can’t compete?
What if I hold up all my cards and let you see?
And if I say something that makes you stay
It would be a masterpiece of fiction crafted just to save face

Victoria, tell that story I love
Take it slow, you know I love the prose
If the setting changed, would the ending stay the same?
If the plot’s too slow, then you can choose your own
Our only hope is the finale feels like home

What if I write the words that can make this right?
Would it bring all these written pages back to life?