At nights we would pretend to get
drunk from rose water and rich
colored desserts. We
imagined it was expensive champagne
and that we did not
need to fall in love.
Weeks passed quickly and blurred
into each other, spinning with our
arms out and collapsing at the ends of months.
It wasn’t long
before we forgot the youthful promises
we made in our gleaming intoxication. You
closed your eyes to February
and kissed me and
spring became rushed,
red and orange and unexpected.
It was a long and liquid summer before
we started again, only this
time learning to take the hard stuff, the drinks
our parents saved for holidays. It burned my throat
but you held my hand and we kept at it,
watching how they walked, always
in straight lines, only turning
their heads at attention. We stopped
our spinning and noticed every
hour that went by. Our lips grew
tight and pale. We did not
realize that this was our fate. We found
ourselves fall, not in love,
but into regret.
I am very openly welcoming critiques of this!