11. exothermic
Spoiler! :
Sometimes I think if I had higher potential hot girl energy, I could have burned you, been the half-Greek goddess of your dreams. We would have kissed in Dublin properly after you abandoned your cigarette for my Guinness-stained lips. I would have been falling in love instead of turning Irish countryside green with envy.
We would have burned so brightly in the Spanish sea after we crashed into each other like waves at high tide. They might still whisper about me, about us, but even those assholes couldn’t deny the chemistry if you always sat next to me. And if nothing else, I’d know what it’s like to be kissed back.
Would we have made it past summer, into fall, into snow, into spring? Would I have wrapped myself around you when I went proper crazy? If you’d been thinking with your dick, just how long would you have tolerated me zig-zagging the Vickie Mendoza diagonal? I tried to tell the doctors you were all I needed. How would that conversation have gone if you were a real boy in the waiting room and not just my Pinocchio Prince Charming hallucination?
It wouldn’t have been forever. One day we’d see that the gaps between us were comically large, like the scene in 2012 where the earthquake splits John Cusack from his wife in the grocery store. It would have ended in booze and tears and so many regrets, so maybe not that different after all.
But maybe I would have been able to hate you properly in hindisight (and not just for your voting record). I might have still tired to romanticize our matching scars (because even a slightly prettier version of me would still be me), but I wouldn’t be writing odes to your ghost in the pine trees.
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