Letters That I never Wrote to myself--Number One

I was sixteen.
She was nineteen.
The only thing we did
more than argue
was have sex.
She said she had
So much to teach me.
But at night her body
Was soaked in sadness.
She was drowning in it.
She held onto me
As drowning people
try to do
to keep afloat.
But all that really happens
Is the weight of two people.
Just sink faster.