It first seemed like a story of boy meets girl.
It’s funny, life doesn’t always play out like a movie.
His improv comedy troupe oozed misogyny so I left him.
It turns out, I’m a lot gayer than he thought.
Friday night at the bar. Dim lighting and spilled beer.
I saw her across the room and my heart stopped.
Her hair was made of summertime, floating like butterfly wings.
Her eyes were why I stayed. But it wasn’t enough.
She was artistic, bold, and sad. She hid it well.
I still can’t eat oranges. They remind me of her.
I get high but I would rather get over her.
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