We could be a famous romance, you know.
Writing the story together, it would be whatever comes after brilliant.
My metaphor, my metaphor please let down your guard
Write to me in your personal tongue
Scream at me on parchment
Let's be the vintage cliché we've always admired.

God, I love it when you talk poetry to me.

We wouldn't just burn bridges. We'd set the whole godammed world on fire with our writer's love shining in their eyes,
blinding them with the metaphorical questionings of two adolescent souls resonating in their skulls.
But God knows this world has aged us far beyond our literal years.

Write to me, love.

Poem for poem, line for stanza 'cause we both know you can convey a message on a fortune cookie and have it smack harder than I could with a 700 paged memoir of the broken.

Let's carve history with quills writing in our blood.
Our unlived story thrashing in its nonexistence dying to become reality