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The last year, she kept dropping hints about how I needed to find a “real job” Neverabout hoe’d never fall into that bullshit trap

Yeah, ere kids But it’s not like she was ever idealistic She meant it

“I’ creeps into her voice Regret Remorse Or maybe pity

In her eyes, I’m still a loser tattoo artist Not like her respectable finance bro fiancé My hair is too long My arms are too inked My jeans are too ripped

I don’t own a suit much less wear one to work every day

“Yeah” Mes at the park by her place Marveling at our sneakers and pinkie pro else

Proive up on our dreams

The rubber padding under my feet

The bright ainst the dark sky

The sprinklers hitting the grass

And that watermelon ChapStick on her lips

I can’t get anywhere near the fucking fruit without thinking of her

“Ryan…” Her voice drops back to that soft, sweet tone I love you “I’m so sorry” But I don’t love you anymore “I told Mom a million tiet that you aren’t over me”

Words tumble from my lips before I can stop them “I am”

“Oh” She barely es to hide her surprise