Photo by X.A. Medina (http://lepoet.tumblr.com/)

There was one before this one, and there was one after this one. But this one. This one. She was special. Perhaps she was only special because she never let herself get boring. Perhaps she was only special because it was short and incredibly sweet, too sweet even. Maybe it was only romantic because they had lived together in Brooklyn, drank 4 loko and lived to tell the tale, smoked hash on the streets of Berlin, drank Absinth in Prague, fought some Japanese businessmen in China, got lost in Venice and saw cars (if you know anything about Venice then you know if you see cars you are definitely  lost). Maybe if they had spent time in the countryside of the Midwest it wouldn’t have been romantic. He would have seen the flaws and the scars that exposed her for who she really was. But in the end it was the scars that he loved the most. The ones he wanted to kiss the most and whisper in her ear, “It’s okay, I will never leave you. You will have to leave me.” And so she did, but not before giving him identical scars to match hers.