It was a cold autumn day,
Halloween was just around the corner,
the amber hued leaves plummet to the cold black-top outside.

We were completely different people,
you had dawned what was called an “emo” haircut-
all razored with fading pink and blue strips,
a worn olive green tote held together with duct tape and safety pins,
purposely ripped grey skinny jeans tied together with fishnet gloves,
dark make up and a black tank top.

I was sporting the opposite,
with bleach blonde hair with dipped black tips that I, at the time-
thought was cool,
the shirt must have screamed prep with the bright pink crop top  and glittery lettering saying; Don’t wait up,
teal skinny jeans and black flats.

We had both ended up in writing club with similar interests,
we wrote-
each of us had a poem,
yours was dark, hating the entirety of the universe,
mine full of false sunshine and rainbows,
we sat adjacent from one another in the circle.

How we ended up giving a verbal exchange,
I’ve no clue in hell-
even to this very day after 3 years.

I would be lying if I said there weren’t a lot of good times between us,
and that I’m so happy that I met you,
but part of me wishes that we hadn’t met.

I wish that I could’ve kept myself from waltzing up to you-
and stop myself from praising your poetry-
which is still a masterpiece to this very day-
I wish we had never met.

If I had known that our relationship would be one massive rollercoaster,
of ecstatic hills and tormenting cliffs of emotion-
on a day to day basis,
I would stop myself,
stop you,
stop everything.

Just stop.