Old Friends

by Anonymous

we were, if I might say,
a match made in hell.

fiery passions of youthful ignorance,
of grandiose ambition, pure chaos, recklessness
the oblivion of nights without ends.
we existed, always, solely, on borrowed time.

this infatuation comes without warning, fleeting, like a gush of wind,
amidst the sweltering summer heat – potential pursuits spanning continents across oceans, across cities of dreaming spires much bigger than ourselves.

we are drawn to each other like moths to a flame,
like a collision waiting to happen,
too much of the same thing, in the same way,
both good and bad
both terrible, and brilliant
as we are as people.

visions of a future beyond the walls of these hallowed institutions remain
virtually non-existent,
because our interactions always come with a co-signed, pre-requisite,
expiry date but;
baby, it makes perfect sense that we should only want to live in the present.

when October arrives we will bid adieu,
perhaps with unfinished business,
and his charming smile that I’ll continue to think about for years.

we will bid goodbye,
but I am certain it will not be forever,
for we will meet again, as old friends.

Old friend,
Old flame,

him and I are the same, same old,
same old.

The Poor Print

Established in 2013, The Poor Print is the student-run newspaper of Oriel College, Oxford, written by members of the JCR, MCR, SCR and staff. New issues are published fortnightly during term. Our current Executive Editors are Siddiq Islam and Jerric Chong.

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