The Skeptic’s Horoscope

The Skeptic’s Horoscope

Like Mulder,

I want to believe.

But my brain reads like Scully’s.

And so I ignore the red roses

pierced with Cupid’s arrows

or the cheap bottle of wine

(that I’d rather was a bottle of scotch).

Ironic that all these February horoscopes

promise you the Valentine’s love beat down.

Yet, I still dreamt of you

as the snow moon got weekend drunk.

For fuck’s sake, I cursed in my sleep,

feeling candy-heart cliché.

But you surprised me, as you always do,

looking all too real with your

goofy grin and childish hope in your eyes.

Love, I thought, from across the room.

I love you, you idiot.

I knew your hand would be sweaty when I held it.

I knew you would smell of warm dirt and apples.

I knew you would be still there when I woke up.

I knew that everything would be rainbows and daisies and

breakfasts in bed.

I knew we would always be strangers.

I knew I would sit next to you in painful silence.

I knew I would know regret.

I knew I would wake up alone.

.

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Author: The Chaos Realm

Copy Editor/Proofreader, Historian, Freelance Writer, Virtual Assistant.

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