Valeria Valentina

Maybe we would have been beautiful. Or maybe we would have been a catastrophe. But we couldn’t have been a beautiful catastrophe because they only exist in poems and we were anything but poetic.

When you love someone, it doesn’t really matter if they love you back or not. Having love in your heart for someone is its own reward or punishment, depending on the circumstances.

You were young. You didn’t know how to do things in halves. You either loved her or you didn’t, and when you did… God. No one could stop you. And when you didn’t… You couldn’t stop yourself.  You were young. Her hair fell like strings of silk between your fingers. Sometimes she laughed too loudly, like she was trying to force the happiness out from between her teeth. Still, she loved you back, she really did.  You were young. You didn’t know the meaning of ‘permanent’. You lived every day with a pen in your mouth, taking whatever you could get. When things ended you cried every night for three months. For a year all you could see when you closed your eyes was her leaving; all you could hear was her saying, “I won’t forget you. I swear, I swear, I won’t forget.”