it is her smiling in the right
me smiling to the left
both of us playing,
and I literally mean this,
mentally-deficient
characters

we were in love,
so the script went,
but what do retards know
about love and being
in love?

how can two people,
so out of touch with
reality,
care for each other
and take care of
each other,
when we people,
so smart and genius
and perfect,
can’t do it
with ease or
grace?

I think I’ll always remember
this picture

the nervous smiles
the unkempt clothes
the ring of keys overflowing
on my waste
the façade of inability
so perfectly kept

but that’s not why
I’ll remember it

it was the love,
the true, unfiltered
love that those
two characters shared
that brings me
back to this
photo
time and
time
again

who are we to tell them
they can’t love?

I think perhaps we should
all look at this photo
and think again who truly
knows what love is.