Age is a just fucking number

<3

I met you 2 years ago at a train station. You were so thin, young, and fragile.  I brought you home because I knew it was what you needed–a place to live. I fed you, bathed you and dressed you. I was so proud that you recovered soon; you could now talk. You told me your name and I told you mine. I asked you, “Where did you come from?”. You told me you didn’t know. And I said, “Okay, you can stay here as long as you want”.

As time passed by,  I discovered the beauty in you. You were so handsome that I needed to stay in the bathroom a little longer. You never failed to compliment me. You always said I am pretty and nice. And by that, I started to like you.

After you were okay,  you started doing things for me. You cook, clean and make me happy. And that affection grew stronger. We also started doing things together. We jogged, we talked (a lot ), we watched movies.  We also started doing things that I thought was not gonna happen. We started kissing, hugging and saying I love you to each other.

And then one day, my friend saw you sleeping in the couch. She asked me who you were, and I told her that you were my boyfriend. Her expression changed, and she left immediately.

The news about us reached my daughter. She asked me if it was true, and I said yes. And I knew she felt disgusted. But I didn’t care, as long as you loved me everything they say was nothing.

Everyone, including my daughter, stopped talking to me. They all ignored my presence; they even forgot my birthday. But I said again, it’s okay as long as we’re together. I guess  that’s what love does.

And then one day, I saw you holding somebody’s hand.  And I was sure you saw me looking at you. I asked, “Who is she?” and begged for an explanation. But you just ignored me.

“you’d be thirteen
I’d be thirty-five
gone to find a place for us to hide

a den or a dessert
perhaps an ink squirt
a cellar, a wishing well, a war
or a guarantee will do for me”-Thirteen Thirtyfive, Dillon

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