"High School Sweetheart"

I didn't feel like changing the clock
an hour ahead during daylight savings time,
so I moved one time zone to the left.
The pink evening primrose flowers
gently waved to me as I drove into Texas,
alongside black matte Mustangs,
thickly coated with desert remnants,
like dusty lecture hall chalkboards
the day before a final exam.
Saw your name on a road sign;
guess it's a sign that I should text you,
but I won't. Instead, our inbox will
just gather dust. Because what's the
point? One is always the sweetheart,
while the other is an asshole. And
I'd rather be the asshole in this interaction
than end up crying at a taco truck
thousands of miles from home.
Don't get me wrong --
I love the idea of us.