"But maybe snow is just angels flicking ashes from their
cigarettes down to earth,
and the days we spend home from school playing in powdered
crystals
will leave us coughing up smoke when we turn 16.
and the light pink dress your mother used to make you wear will
turn red where it hits your hips and kisses the tips of your
wrists,
and your mother will ask you why there’s blood on all your
clothing
and you’ll pretend like you haven’t been doing drugs in the
bathroom at school and crying so much.
and one of these days I’ll scream at you to kiss me, and
you’ll do it
and we’ll both burn into the ground and watch our bones melt
into nothing
because we are nothing,br> even though we’ve got ourselves
convinced that we’re the world.
but at least your lips are against mine.
and you don’t always feel it at first, but when you feel it
oh god
you feel it.
and liquor seems like a good idea
until it’s not.
and you’ll get better at feeling sorry for yourself and
bandaging cuts.
and you’ll get better at finding the stars under your skin,
and learning to breathe again.
and you’ll lose your f*cking mind
but you’ll find it.
again,
and again,
and again.
and I’m terrified of growing up,
and leaving behind chapped lips
and peach tasting kisses
and fireworks
and headaches
and eyes filled with oceans pouring down your face and flooding
your mouth,
but I would go anywhere with you."