We are collapsing in on each other in the Shell parking lot. My tongue is the color of chlorinated pool water and yours is a deep purple like the bruises on our tan limbs. “Two dollars isn’t bad at all for a large slushie,” you remark to the night sky. “Yeah, it’s a good deal,” I say as a mouthful of stale words get in the way. It’s july and we’ve decided that everything in the world is inconsequential because it will all end anyway. The white flags have all burnt down from the heat waves radiating from our bodies. I’m trying to carve my name into the tree next to the parking lot but you’re drunk and yelling at me to stop. “We aren’t meant to be remembered! Let them forget about us, stop trying to fucking live forever! Why is nothing ever enough? Why is life never enough for you?” I show you my arms, my neck, the backs of my knees as if they mean anything to you. I’m a self-devouring black hole, a binge drinker, a tin can. We’re going to die, everything will crumble eventually, it will all be dust someday. The popsicle stick picture frame you made in second grade, my fathers wedding ring, all the lost, stolen, broken things in the world, will cease to be. Our knees touch and I can feel the alcohol staring wide eyed at me from your bloodstream. I realize that this was never real, none of it ever mattered, I was just a temporary character in your temporary story. There are cars driving past, it’s 8:30 at night and the cautious people of the world have their headlights on. The moths wink in shades of lilac and burgundy through a haze of sticky night air. Something about the way your breathing pattern sounds like little fists hitting a punching bag reminds me of being six and tired. It reminds me of white sheets and the harsh reminder that nothing will ever be that pure again. My tongue is burying itself between your teeth and the blue from my mouth is seeping into the red from yours. I’m crying and laughing at something my brother said once and you’re worried that the cops are watching us. If we’d paid any attention at all we would have seen the cracks in our foundations right then and there, but two dollar slushies and xanax filled pockets were beautiful stars in our sad skies.
We’re having sex in the morning, your love was foreign to me, it made me think maybe human’s not such a bad thing to be. But I just lay there in protest, entirely fucked. It’s such a stubborn reminder one perfect night’s not enough.