A little chaos theory6More Like This
You wrote to give yourself the happy ending life never would.
The pathologists report said you died when your ribs shattered and punctured your lungs.
James thinks you were dead the minute you finished that book.
It's You, James and Me in the woods. We've been coming here since we were eight.
The grounds pockmark from a hundred bonfires and the trees are covered in faded poetry. You aren't allowed to argue here. Ever. You told James and I about Mr ProNoun here a year ago. You told us you were going to be the ultimate cliché. The panda eyed, chain smoking, beret wearing, broken poet. You just had to be something.
You had to be someone whose world wasn't imploding.
"Lilly. I'm going to die young. I'm not going to kill myself. I just know it's going to happen. Lil, you promise you won't play the Fray? You know the song I'm thinking of."
"I promise Cass."
That wasn't the first time I had to promise you that. Every time I said I would.
Every time you'd start laughing