She
was midnight in no where
like thunder in late July
the taste of sour apple slushies
and the bad decisions I could have sworn I was qualified to make.
I
was sweater weather August
a point of view she couldn't see
summer's final sunset
and all of her least favorite memories.
We
were September, like October, tripping through late November
as if nothing ever happened
because she was never one to admit fault
and I've always forgiven her regardless.
She
is a second thought
a forgotten muse
the last of my childhood memories
and the last thing I want to think about anymore
I
am much the same
an uncertain outcome
a step in the wrong direction
and a reminder of what it's like to dwell.
We
are set in our ways
like old souls unwilling to change
so we'll continue on this way
and pretend it doesn't feel the same
