i have come to the contrite conclusion that i wasn't built for permanence.
i was built for sweet summer romances, for sitting in a vast field of dandelions, picking the white wisps apart and watching them sway in the air as i rest my head on your shoulder.
i was built for dancing on the rooftop while the midnight stars enhance the sky, our bare feet spinning sprightly to the music, kissing your lips with longing as the city lights dim around us.
i was built for draping myself in my knitted cardigan, packing my belongings, and taking the next train out of town at the first turn of the seasons.
i was built for returning to my routine, remaining emotionless and independent, comforted by the knowledge that i won't encounter you once again.
i have an immense admiration for those who were built for permanence.
i revere those who were built to fight in the kitchen at two in the morning, messy hair and loose pajama pants, tears streaming down their faces as they work tirelessly to save the connection they cherish most.
i admire those who visit psychologists and counselors in pairs of two, lines of apprehension on their foreheads, but fingers intertwined as they attempt to keep their marriage as strong as their passion.
when i romanticize stable relationships and connections for others, the visualizations seem to emulate a perfect portrait, everything exactly in its happy place.
when i envision consistency and commitment for myself, i grow repulsed.
i wish that i wished for an everlasting connection.
yet i long for nothing more than to be a fling that you will recall with nostalgic vagueness.
i wish to be the girl you lock eyes with, to maintain your gaze for a split second, and then to watch you slip away, only remembering me when a casual momento arises.
i wasn't built for permanence.
i was built to be temporary.
