Flowers fell from my locker and all

eyes

locked on

me.

A white paper bag sat on top

of                                  my books.

“Open it.” “Open it.” “Open it.”

I opened it.

Six pink sugar cookies stared up at me:   P R O M ?

The tap on my shoulder shouldn’t

have surprised me.

My high school sweetheart smiled his sweet smile wanting me to accept his sweet cookies, his sweet promposal.

Why the hell do promposals exist?

Mythroatwastootight.

“So, will you go with me?”

Their eyes pressure me to accept. How

can I say no to someone who cares so much?

Plus, we’re dating.

Why are we dating again?

The cookies turn my stomach before

I even eat them.

“Yes.”

Isn’t this a fairytale?

Poetry

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