Early May, St. Andrews

My lips start to quiver

So I screw them up.

I kiss my teeth and

A chill runs through me.

Love will tear us apart, says Mr. Curtis.

I’ve always struggled with friends.

You know?

I want to be liked, really I do,

But I seem to make it hard for people.

So when I find them–

Those people I never want to be apart from–

God, it’s bliss. And yet, here we are.

Is that what it’s to be, then?

A life of beautiful, transient people?

I think I’m ok with that.

Taking my part in a life of sweet sorrows.