Once I loved a boy with hungry eyes
and fender guitar in hand. It
could've been a fairytale beginning
when I found him down at the old post office
covering the graffiti on the walls with
cheap spray paint in $2 cans and words so carefully handpicked
they made me cry.

We swore one day we'd leave this
silly little city and
forget the songs we used to love.

(epilogue: then a day came
when he traded his guitar away,
threw out the spray paint and
closed those hungry eyes
until he became just another one of those
bleeding their hearts out
onto the sidewalk.

I stopped writing love stories.)