girl holding a cigarette

3 11 17

I slurred “I love you”
I didn’t mean it.
I wish I did.
Someone who kissed me and set off fireworks.
A girl who would hold my hand
When I would shiver and shake
From a line I took that night
A girl who would hold me close
And hand me a cigarette
A girl who asked about my dreams
And a girl who starred in them
But I didn’t.
I didn’t deserve that
And you don’t deserve me
One day I will be gone and so will you
We will live different lives in new hearts
Before our old ones stop beating
I feel like I’m waiting
Just on the edge of my seat
Biting the tips of my fingernails
Swallowing the words I wish I could say to you
“I’m lying”
I don’t love
I don’t believe in it
An emotion that holds too loud
I only hear it when I think of you
And all other emotions turn silent
But I hear laughs and smell roses
But with time I hear sobs and smell smoke
I suppose that’s what I deserve.
Thinking I could belong to the click.
I kissed you.
“I love you too”
For now.
Until our next life.
Where we are strangers
In a sea the world tries to drown us in.

Can we just think about Carl from Peter’s perspective for a moment. An older guy with a French surname and history of leaving behind trails of heartbroken French girls. Or one French girl, at least. Someone who holds his cigarette like a superstar and taught Peter how to steal a car. Well, a moped. Who reads Oscar Wilde and writes his own complicated guitar riffs, who grew up living with his hippie mother at communes and tent farms, who loves tenderly but fights dirty.

It was like a character from Peter’s wild imaginations come true.

Then imagine when Peter discovered that there could have been two Carls.