Wednesday 

We were only meant to last for a moment.

We both knew we wouldn’t last for years like we spoke about drunkenly on my roof. 

There would be no house with an expensive oven, the kind that would cook pizza evenly. 

There would be no abundance of dogs. 

There would be no you and me in a rented apartment, watching the other sleep hoping neither of us choke on our own vomit. 

No late night text messages, no early morning coffee runs. 

No college breaks or laying in the sun. 

There was just you, me and a clock waiting to hit 90. 

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Day-old Burritos

The city stayed awake and so did we.

We drank rum from cracked glasses

and ate day-old burritos.

I fell in love with how every pizza place was your favourite,

some for the crust, others toppings,

some for being kind and others for always being on time.

There were no complains, we always agreed and

with each kiss we exchanged, there was more familiarity.

No love was wasted, no trouble found,

no hearts broken, just wandering around.

We did nothing wrong, we made it through most dawns.

We did nothing wrong, time just hated us all along.