How It's Going to be

Three years later, a new girl sits cross-legged on your bed. She tastes like dew painted leaves instead of sunlight. She opens up that book you read in high school, it's pages filled with lessons you were too young to learn just then and streaks of yellow that meant the difference between life and death back then - even though they mean nothing now. You watch her thumb through the pages slowly as a picture of us flutters from the chapter we swore would one day be just like ours. We've been forgiven for not keeping our word the way good boys and girls almost always should. But never mind that, her face gets a little darker and she asks about the photo:

" I dated her when I was younger, I was older than her, that was a while back, it's nothing anymore," You explain with fragmented comments of the already fragment-like thoughts. Your heart nudges your soul and whispers, "When I hold you, sometimes, I pretend that you're her and that your chocolate eyes are hers filled with endless fields of bluebells. Her eighteen karat smile was everything I needed to light up my shadow plagued world of twenty years. I will never forget her, it was too perfect then."

Don't worry though, I'm the same way when I'm in his arms at the movies or in his lap after work when we just don't have the energy to stand nor to sleep. I don't think he's realized it yet and I'm sure she wouldn't mind.