we had subway thrice a week and our room smelled like the ocean. surprise parties excited us and the bursting of balloons scared us. we loved like our physics professor loved light laws and taylor swift puns. we found lost leaves in old journals and phone covers. there were saturns painted on our cupboards and we made playlists to pass time. we’d sit on the floors and get high on soft drinks (others called it sugar rush.) we made red velvet cookies and wrote poems together in forms of texts. we sang to each other on birthdays and stole (borrowed) ice cream from our neighbors. we built mind maps of words that made partial sense and joined them to lose all the sense. the scent of mint leaves calmed us as our words became the broken stems, coming together to make fire as if it’s all the love left. but in the end, it was always we that burnt and it was always we that dissolved into specs of light and grey ash. our love faded at the end of every month, but our beds remained the same; arms and loveless cuddles. sometimes hushed words were involved, sometimes only faint snores. we were a forest fire and our love, the warmth. for, they say warmth is the only thing we’ll find in a world built on fire. we were all the flaws of everyone we have ever loved, and perhaps that’s why we could never be what we were to be.