Status: one shot yo
Of You & Me
We’re Searching for Something
I swear, they’ll write a story of the lives we lived. They’ll write it as a fable, if you will. A moral guide by elitists as to why young love never works, why no one should fall for it. Or by people who totally fall for it and think of it as a tragedy.
The story of the two runaways who never thought they’d be together. Of the two boys who knew exactly what they wanted, but at the same time, had no idea what to do.
It’ll start with the two teenaged friends discovering what sex was and meant. The sloppy kisses, the beating chests and curious hands. The realisation that it was more than an experiment. The realisation that, whatever it was, it wouldn’t work.
They’ll emphasise on everything, like we did, turning our lives at home into lives that were more than what they really were. As if we had an actual reason to rebel.
They’ll make your father out as this terrible person for asking you about me with a disapproving demeanour. They’ll write about all the nights we spent calling each other instead of sleeping. They’ll point out the irony of the cross hanging above your bed with the rosary hanging off of the left side. The fact that we never stopped doing what we always did. The rumours of us that were correct wouldn’t be secluded from the story.
Neither would your stupid idea of leaving college for Boston with me. Or the amount of time I spent on trying to convince you to stay, for your sake.
Our days when we had no idea what we’d do or where we’d go would be the highlight of the story. The nights we’d spend in the car with no money or ambition, just happy we were away from the suburbs and in a city we knew little of, with each other. We knew what we wanted, we were trying to make it happen. It’d be the punch-line of a joke, the climax of it all.
They’ll write about the friends we made and what they did. How we leeched off of them and all the false promises we all made.
They’d portray through our story how an innocent relationship can wreck, how it’d turn into the opposite of what we wanted. How other people get involved, how we sometimes focused on them more than each other. How they turned into experiments, and how we still stuck together, despite the fact that we lied and trusted each other.
And in the midst of all that, how we still hung onto the promises we gave each other and got back. How we never got our big break, that thing we wanted since we were teenagers.
In the end, we’d be frequent strangers surviving on the nice memories we had of each other.
Out of the many promises I made to you, this is one I know will be made true. Because I swear, they’ll write a story of the lives we lived.
Of you and me.
The story of the two runaways who never thought they’d be together. Of the two boys who knew exactly what they wanted, but at the same time, had no idea what to do.
It’ll start with the two teenaged friends discovering what sex was and meant. The sloppy kisses, the beating chests and curious hands. The realisation that it was more than an experiment. The realisation that, whatever it was, it wouldn’t work.
They’ll emphasise on everything, like we did, turning our lives at home into lives that were more than what they really were. As if we had an actual reason to rebel.
They’ll make your father out as this terrible person for asking you about me with a disapproving demeanour. They’ll write about all the nights we spent calling each other instead of sleeping. They’ll point out the irony of the cross hanging above your bed with the rosary hanging off of the left side. The fact that we never stopped doing what we always did. The rumours of us that were correct wouldn’t be secluded from the story.
Neither would your stupid idea of leaving college for Boston with me. Or the amount of time I spent on trying to convince you to stay, for your sake.
Our days when we had no idea what we’d do or where we’d go would be the highlight of the story. The nights we’d spend in the car with no money or ambition, just happy we were away from the suburbs and in a city we knew little of, with each other. We knew what we wanted, we were trying to make it happen. It’d be the punch-line of a joke, the climax of it all.
They’ll write about the friends we made and what they did. How we leeched off of them and all the false promises we all made.
They’d portray through our story how an innocent relationship can wreck, how it’d turn into the opposite of what we wanted. How other people get involved, how we sometimes focused on them more than each other. How they turned into experiments, and how we still stuck together, despite the fact that we lied and trusted each other.
And in the midst of all that, how we still hung onto the promises we gave each other and got back. How we never got our big break, that thing we wanted since we were teenagers.
In the end, we’d be frequent strangers surviving on the nice memories we had of each other.
Out of the many promises I made to you, this is one I know will be made true. Because I swear, they’ll write a story of the lives we lived.
Of you and me.
♠ ♠ ♠
I will stop over-using the Maine and second-person perspective, I promise.