theres a heavy silence between usit settles in the creases on your jacketand seeps into the fur on my hood.i know your middle name andi know your birthday and i know you look more like your dadbut you wish you looked like your mom.i watch your back and for the first time in my lifeim genuinely terrified."whats my birthday?" i askand you dont look at me because you never doyou never look me in the eyeyou never say my nameand god its hitting me.its hitting me that maybemaybe it was all for nothingi know you inside and outi know you better than i know myselfand maybe thats all for nothing."it’s in december, right?" you askbut its not a question andif i were anyone else if i werent love-sickif i wasnt absolutelyfucking blinded by youi would punch you in the fucking mouth.my birthday is may fifth.
Ashlyn Roselli
hate, infatuation, love