You Said Forever in a Parking Lot
Read more poetry by Britt Wolfe
We were kids trying on destiny
like it was something we could afford—
two beating hearts
leaning against the chipped hood of your car,
breath fogging the windshield
in clumsy initials
we pretended meant fate.
The world felt small enough
to hold in our jacket pockets,
big enough to dream inside.
I can still see the fluorescent haze
of that parking lot—
the way the streetlamp buzzed
like it was nervous for us,
the way December wind
braided itself through your hair,
the way you looked at me
like the moment itself was holy
and we were stupid enough
to believe it too.
You said forever there—
right beside the cracked yellow line
where you kissed me like a promise
you didn’t know how to keep.
Your voice was soft,
hopeful,
the kind of reckless
that only lives in people
who haven’t yet learned
what endings feel like.
We weren’t thinking about
the way life can split open,
or how dreams can unravel
in the space between birthdays.
We didn’t imagine
the years that would stretch
like dusk between us,
or how a single place
can become a monument
to all the versions of ourselves
we never became.
But I still remember the heat
of your hand in mine,
the peppermint on your breath,
the way the radio played our song
so quietly it felt like it was listening.
I remember believing you.
I remember believing us.
It’s strange—
how a place so ordinary
can root itself into your bones.
How every time I drive past it,
something aches in me
like a phantom limb
of the life we almost had.
Because the truth is,
we never stood a chance.
We were too young,
too hopeful,
too willing to swear forever
in a place meant for temporary stops.
And still—
whenever I see that parking lot,
the ghost of your promise
leans against my ribs,
hands in pockets,
eyes full of a future
we were never meant to live.
Forever didn’t start there.
But it didn’t end there either.
It just settled
into the quiet corners of memory,
waiting for me
every time I pass by
the place where
you said forever
and we almost believed it.
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Poetry Anthologies by Britt Wolfe:
