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

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 avvfvl)


Not mine, I have no idea who made this.