Imagine an AU where person b is a superhero and person a is the reporter tasked with writing articles and getting photos of them but a is always getting into really perilous situations and person b finds it absolutely hilarious and adorable
Person A: *dangling from a flag pole, clutching their camera and their notepad*
Person B: *currently laughing their ass off*
Person A: what the hell kind of bullshit is this i’m a damsel in distress you get your radiated ass up here right the fuck now and save me before i plummet to my death
Person B: you’re the farthest thing from a damsel i’ve ever seen tbfh
Person A: *being lifted to the ground by Person B* i’ve never been so offended in my life and i hope you rot in the fires of hell but anyway could you sit for an interview
I never asked about your girlfriends because they didn’t worry me.
Breakups bring closure, you button them up like old shirts and stow them away. I was interested in the girls you never dated, never broke up with. The ones who came with loose ends and what-ifs. The ones with mystery and unfinished endings, stories that could write back into yours, into ours. Stories that could write me out. I called them the Almosts.
The Almosts have a way of hanging around, like loose shirts draped over chairs or stuffed in the backs of drawers. Just because they aren’t part of your everyday routine doesn’t mean they couldn’t be.
So as sad as I am that we are parting ways, I can only hope that this is temporary, that we will be written back into each other’s lives at a different time. Maybe I am just another almost, but at least that means that I haven’t been packed away for good. Maybe I’m just a shirt that still fits, but just got lost under the bed. Maybe you’ll realize you still love me when you try me on again in a few years.
Its a lot easier to grab a shirt draped over a chair than one that’s been packed away. But then again, you were never very tidy.