Astrid Ressler, Copy Editor
At best,
we could become something serious,
learn all of each other’s quirks,
fall madly in love
and end up in a town far away from here,
incredibly happy.
At worst,
you turn into the bed that I stay in
when I come into town
and get too drunk to drive.
Because I am already infused
with alcohol that I didn’t pour for myself.
I smell of cigarettes
that I did not smoke.
On the tip of my tongue are questions
that I could never ask you or myself.
I really don’t want to hear the answers.
The good days for us
are like sitting together in the eye of a terrible storm,
watching the chaos swirl around us,
waiting for its inevitable return.
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