Please don't break up with me.
I won't know how to breathe, or what door to wait at to get into school, or how to walk past your locker.
Who will cover your books for you? You were never good at that brown paper bag thing.
I have a real silver spoon out of your kitchen drawer from when you brought me a wrapped piece of your grandma's special dessert last Christmas. I also have your Walkman, your gray Nike sweatshirt, and your dyed electric blue rabbit's foot with your Stepdad's shed door key on it; and you still have my bike which, you might have forgotten, is in that shed for safekeeping. Bringing it back here will surely mean it'll be stolen in a week, just like my last two ten speeds.
Do you really want that on your conscience?
Maybe your new girlfriend won't mind if I decide to stop by and grab my bike before school and then bring it back to the shed after school and maybe she won't even notice if I pick it up every weekend, now, too.
You're right, I haven't ridden it all that much lately but my guts tell me that as of tomorrow, I'm going to be riding that bike
All
The
Time.
#mushroomtumbler
No comments:
Post a Comment