Everything about this was unofficial and
somehow we still broke each other.
By pretending not to care as much
as we did — what were we so afraid of?
This? The agony of knowing it’s over
before it really had a chance to begin.
Because we ended up here anyway.
In the end, there are no pictures.
No dried flowers, no mixed tapes.
Nothing tangible to hold in my hands,
only the pain in my soul, to serve as a
reminder that you and I did exist.