Monday, September 16, 2013

112.

we were a road trip planned by teenagers
who don't even know how to drive
all dreams, no map

no one knew us
like we did
(and no one could hurt us
 like we could)

you were a security blanket
that I carried a few years too many
and I still miss the way
you smelled like not growing up

our miseries bled into one
we indulged ourselves too much

and we were not strong enough 
to carry each other's burdens
or old enough to know not to try

I was a sickness you kept catching
I came back to you when I grew weary
and I made you weary, too

we were so young

and you have faded from my skin

but there is still a splinter of you
in my lungs that pulses
with your heart (I imagine)

some nights I am still sixteen
and you are still my sweetheart

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