they will read our story in classrooms where some kid has scrawled swear words into the grooves of half the desks and teachers will slam down their hands for emphasis and to wake up that boy in the back and they’ll underscore all the wrong things like they’ll skip right over how impossible our meeting was and instead talk about the meaning of a greek chorus and dramatic irony because from the beginning my blonde best friend with too much wisdom but without strong eardrums will be the one to hear the coming of the end don’t you know she flinched when she found out we had held hands and our editor will have removed the fact that i was shaking so hard our teeth clacked when i first kissed you so our falling will sell as a smooth descent instead of the chasm we collided with and someone will snap their gum and the teacher will spend thirty minutes talking about respect and no one will do the reading but everyone will guess the end and our love will become a t.v. trope and no one will remember the small things like the hole in your sheets or the creak of my bed or the way you felt when you sighed against my neck or how i kept loving you long after you had left how i spiraled out of control until my ribs were made from tin, how i have made lovers from whiskey and moonshine and gin, how i used to be an optimist but now i think nobody every really wins my life an epilogue to a love story that could have been.
my name will become as empty as sorry juliet. // r.i.d (via inkskinned)
