I love you.

And I love you because of this.
When we were in your car that night and you asked me if I thought I was pretty and I scoffed and said no.

You looked at me with the most serious I've ever seen you be and you told me.
"No. You are pretty.
You're a pretty girl.
And you know it.
That's why you hate to admit it."

That's the closest I've ever come to feeling beautiful.

I wasn't too drunk to remember that moment. I have the scar to remind us of that night. Proof that our love once burned in a cemetery, in a car, in a bathroom. Under the moon that baptized our love that was wrong, that was right. That was destined for failure the moment we knew it wasn't worth the fight.

We pissed on the earth, we kissed the sky. We held each other and knew the sun rised for us only.
That was the night I knew you only my blood pumped and pumped for your eyes and your brown skin against mine, and your pink tongue against mine.
One day I will see you again.
One day we'll meet.