the new ones always seem impossibly perfect. distance conceals blemishes. she thinks the same of you. eye contact becomes greetings becomes hours spent up at night, talking like you're the only ones that can understand each other.
time passes. idiosyncracies start to grate, or interactions turn into routines loaded with obligation. or maybe someone just gets busy and can't be as available as they were.
seasons change. what you had can never come back. at the end of summer break, she'll move on, and you'll still be fighting the same war.
maybe someone will catch your eye on your next first day. or the one after that. you've got nothing but time, and something has to make it bearable.
fuck this is really good miss anon
you’re seriously gonna make the angel throw up
