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Might Not Even Come True

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Wrapped up in my blanket from my boyfriend,
I sit and try to write this poem.
Words escape me as I inhale
the sweet warmth of clean laundry.

My Macbook is pink.
Grad Bash is tomorrow.
Senior prom in a week.
And just like that, we start to feel the sorrow.

The sorrow that accompanies goodbyes.
That brings the sinking feeling to our stomachs
The desperation of not knowing,
not knowing when we’ll meet again.

I’m scared,
And I’m nervous,
For what the future holds.
I’m not ready.

But in five years time,
maybe we’ll meet again.
Or maybe we’ll still know
each other as well as we do now.

In five years time,
we’ll have the apartment,
with the pug,
filled with love we have for each other.

In five years time,
maybe I’ll be in med school,
maybe I’ll move to Boston,
maybe I’ll live in France.

Maybe just maybe
But who really knows?
Me, myself, and I
am too indecisive.




I know what I should want
to do with my life.
I know what I could,
I know what I say I won’t.


But I don’t know the results
and I won’t know my company,
but I know I’ll just need you,
as long as we don’t grow up.

I have my ambitions,
I have my goals and dreams.
And you’re by my side
countless numbers of times.

So if by some twist of kismet,
we end up on different sides of Earth,
just look for me in everywhere you go
and I’ll be sure to do the same.

But if fate is kind,
I’ll have your hand in mine,
through every minute,
every hour, every year.

Maybe we’ll be reading this together.
Maybe you won’t remember me.
And if the latter is true,
I hope this triggers a spark.

A spark that reignites the fire.
that reminds you of our love.
And even memories of our tears
will bring a smile to your face.

So, darling, don’t be upset
if you don’t like the contents of this poem.
I still like you.
Always have, always will.




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