Maybe one day they’ll sit there, in a damp church basement where the boy biting his nails and the girl in the stained shirt are barely visible under the dim fluorescent lights  and they’ll discuss our story.

And maybe the priest will preach about how we are the epitome of humanity and everyone will cede that the small facts show we were doomed from our creation.

And they’ll analyze the differences between our two tales because oh darling, don’t you               

                                   know,

the way I focused on the snowflakes caught in the flutter of your lashes and the way you were only looking back at your own reflection in the crystal blues of mine were just one sign of the world between us.

Did you know that the original sin was not an apple? It was most likely a date tree, a heart of palm. Too bad ours were too tangled up in the moment to realize that paradise could not last, that given the choice, we would choose the sweetness every time. That it might be bitter, but that was a fine price to pay for our freedom.

But you see, what they’ll never tell you is that it was never really a choice, was it? They’ll ignore the way my heart felt like it was going to run out of my chest, and how when the leaves fell, so did I. And boy, did we fall hard. Because you can only spend so long nameless, letting someone else be the very reason for your exhales and inhales, before all the air runs out. And maybe they’ll all judge me, but they weren’t there in that moment, because I was drowning in oxygen and the only way out was to

                                        sink

                                                  in

                                                         deep.