you told me that with distance, love too grows.
which is kind of like trying to a convince a thirteen year old that santa still exists,
but it made a nice story, one we both wanted to believe.
two months after we said goodbye
you asked me how we were doing,
when I told you we were like a peach you smiled
but I didn’t mean for you to take it as a compliment.
and when I told you that we were okay,
I was lying.
we weren’t okay.
we were peachy.
when we went to the grocery store together
looking for my almond milk and your 2%
we noticed how everything in the store had expirations dates
and like everything else would in that supermarket,
we grew sour.
maybe because you only ever gave 2%
and maybe because you never understood.
you thought peach meant perfection
but our skins were far too thin
we were never apples who shined after being rubbed the wrong way
instead, we tore holes into each other
exposing parts of ourselves that we never wanted in the first place.
we were left with peach pits
left with the crevices of our crookedness
an intertwined mass of emptiness
and we thought maybe somewhere
we could love ourselves through someone else’s crooked eyes
but we were rotten from the inside out.