I was so worried and concerned about how my story would turn out.
Or what new story that we could make.
But of course, due to my selfish nature, I forgot about yours.
Your story, and how it will play out.
You tell me your tale and the world you live in.
I’m already so frightened that I just don’t quite fit in it.
I hear your stories of entanglement and the things you deal with.
Of course, I want to help and give you what I can.
But as much as I want to be, I am merely not apart of it.
And I don’t think you want me to be.
Maybe it’s cause you’re scared.
Maybe it’s because you don’t actually care.
Maybe you don’t see this lasting more than the summer.
Maybe, maybe, maybe, and maybes are what my story is becoming
Now I’m starting to think the worst,
my head filled with thoughts, and
now horrified I want to cut this off and
say I’m doing what’s best for me.
So I can save myself from you hurting me.
But that’s just my side of the story, I genuinely wonder
so yeah here's that. A poem I wrote about my summer romance. Will it last longer? Whoooooooooo knows.