actual title: bits and pieces of another stupid story where the boy leaves at the end

10.

she was a poet. she was a writer. she created things, she planned things. falling in love with him was not part of the plan, but the first time he held her in his arms like that, she understood why so many people write poetry about love.

9.

he loved the poet because she was fragile, breakable. she was something precious, something delicate and eloquent and different. he would hold her so gently, and she would think but never say,

“i’m a person, not a flower.”

8.

“just out of curiosity,” the poet began one day, “did you know that i write poetry?”

“yes.” he said, “you told me a long time ago.”

later that evening, she gazed at the poems that had been inspired by him and sensed that that would be the last they ever spoke of her poetry.

7.

the poet shuddered when she realized that he only told her how beautiful her eyes were when the room was dark and she was on her back.

6.

he never finished reading books because they got to be too predictable, or he simply got bored. every time the subject came up, the poet simply swallowed and nodded, thinking of how soon she would become predictable.

5.

sometimes the poet would stop and simply gaze at him.

“what are you thinking?” he would always ask, and she would always say,

“i never thought you’d actually be mine.”

and she never told him, but she never completely believed that he was.

4.

eventually, the poet figured out why he was so gentle. they both knew that he would break her someday, snap her stem and crush her petals in his gentle hands, and he didn’t want her to remember him as a flower-killer.

3.

the poet once found a four-leaf clover, but wished for world peace because she knew that even a wish on a four-leaf clover couldn’t make him stay, and she pondered why some things just aren’t worth wishing for. she supposed it was because if we wish for them, some part of us believes that it’ll happen.

she gave him the four-leaf clover but she knew he wouldn’t stay.

2.

he came to the poet’s yard and they watched the sunset, but when the stars came out he had to go home, because he felt as though the summer night was suffocating the pair of them, so she watched the stars on her own.

1.

when the green and gold firework lost its light and the debris headed to the ground, the poet could once again, see the stars, constant and reliable. “the stars are so beautiful.” she whispered.

the poet’s companion kissed her forehead and said, “just watch the fireworks. the stars are always there. watch the fireworks, because soon they’ll be gone.”

the poet watched the fireworks reflected in his eyes, and she whispered, “yes, soon they’ll be gone.”

watch the fireworks, because soon they’ll be gone.