What is the point of me giving you my name, information, history, and heart if it only ends in defeat?
What if we continue to crash into love, we will only bruise our hearts farther.
Adding stories through scars.
What if you don’t hope as I do?
But it can’t have been just me,
it wasn’t only me
that saw you looking at me more times than I looked at you.
The two men sitting beside me saw it, too.
The way you talked to me more than the others.
How you had given me a new name, one that only you could use.
How our words flew in mock-battle with no victor in mind.
How you talked about films because you knew I liked them.
How I talked of rugby because I knew you liked them.
How I was called the Star of the County Down, and you agreed.
‘Do you like him?’ a man asked.
‘Of course I do,’ my answer, without a thought.
But what’s the point?
I shall go to England. You will go to Galway.
What’s the point of wasting my time by enjoying your company?
For while we smile often together, it will only end sooner than we imagine.