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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