He’s dyed black hair, moody and 21.
He makes mix tapes. He puts cigarettes out on his arm.
He notices me when I feel invisible.
He nicknamed me “Heroin” because he says I’m addictive and I’ll probably end up killing him.
He’s known me for 3 weeks.
You need to sneak out tonight. I’ll pick you up at the park and have you back by 5am. Nobody needs to know.
Come on. If you come, I’ll give you that rare Furs poster that I got with the album in London. The one over my bed. It’s yours. Come get it.
I hesitate. It’s a cool poster.
Wait. What? Fuck that. No.
You’re a baby.
There’s a click and I’m holding a phone in my hand.
He talked to me twice after that.
Within a month,
he slept with my friend
and moved away.
I feel like a baby.
Fast forward to Record Store. Brooklyn. 2014.
The album is in my hands.
Poster Included – the tag reads.
The poster I didn’t lose my virginity over
is finally mine.
Man. Being 17 was so weird.
Anybody ever try to give you a poster for your virginity?
Share in the comments.
PS: I got so many compliments about the Bikini Kill dress in the comments. Thanks! I’m all about supporting indie-designers and this one is one of my favorites. I got it over at Vera’s Eye Candy – she’s got some badass style and designs.