We are not the ambiguous end of an indie film.
You’ve been using my flat while I figured out steps after your dad got me fired, and your mum said she’d help us, which turned out to be lies, and you got inundated with texts until you were sure we were broadcast, we would be, on Wanted posters in town, blogs.
But no-one revealed the secret. I unveil it now, after so many months, speculation, false accounts, police reports, sightings, harassment filings.
Because if the first time we kiss in public is this, if you don’t count when you grabbed me outside of school the day I left when you really weren’t meant to, I want people to know that it’s us and be used to it. This is not a crime. Or it might be, but whatever.