War (a slaughterhouse-five rip off)

It goes something like this....

Before the war, we used to call each other everyday, everywhere. We used to whisper into each other's ears, and laughed out loud, stole glances, even for a fraction of a second, and delinquently touched each other.

During the war, I was too busy fighting battles. You were busy living your life. You have a good life, yes. You have good friends, stimulating hobbies, you have a blossoming career, and you like to dance. Dance, to me, is an unfamiliar territory, but I never mind exploring it with you. You never wrote me any letters.

After the war, you were married......okay, not married, but you were in love with someone else. And so it goes.

Fact is, there never was a war. I did fight battles, tho. Battles that had taken place in trashy bars in the East Village, 4 AMs in the morning. Battles fought with ping-pong ammunition, that involved extremely precise targeting in order to conquer triumph. But even the intoxicating defeats were as satisfying as victories. Battles fought in hipsters' glamours. Fact is, you got bored with me after a couple of months, and met someone else, someone you barely even know, and deserted me with nothingness. A typical story, with a typical ending. And so it goes.

But every now and then, when people ask, I will say " I came back from a war, and she was married to a douche bag. And so it goes."