Look, I know you’re gonna break my heart. I know it.
I know anything we grow into will be as temporary and unstable as Ohio’s weather.
I know that by this time next year, we won’t be sending flirtatious smirks across the patio table and I won’t be laughing at you yelling at scary movies.
I know that pretty soon I won’t be able to go to my favourite bar without feeling the first time you kissed me and I know that it’s a matter of months before my favourite songs now make my bones shift beneath my skin.
I know that I’ve only got a few more bottles of whiskey left before the burn in my throat feels too much like the way your name sits on my tongue.
I know that next June will feel colder than the upcoming winter months I may or may not get to spend with you and I know that there will come a time that you smile at me and I’m no longer allowed to kiss your pouty lips.
I know that pretty soon your bed will smell like a man’s cologne and feel a lot like hell.
I know that your perfume will quit smelling like summer romances and begin to suffocate me like chloroform.
I know that one nite, I will kiss you and taste someone else’s saliva on your tongue.
My mother used to plant the loveliest Perennials in the middle of spring and all summer they would blossom and bloom and fill our yard with vibrant beauty unlike any other. Of course, come winter, they’d be crushed and buried by the weight of white. But every April I’d watch out my window as the reds and pinks effortlessly painted the garden again with the same old seed.
I don’t know if we’ll be like those flowers that come back to life as the seasons change, even after months of being nothing at all.
I don’t know which month’s weather will be the one that stunts what we’ve grown into or if we’ll be rooted enough to break the soil again later down the road.
But I do know that things do not need to be permanent to be real, do not need to be visible to hold hope, and do not need to last forever to be beautiful.