He
was a boy and he was beautiful.
It
was the 21st of
September, we were barely 16.
He
took me to the city and held my hand.
We
rode the ferris wheel and kissed in the haunted house.
He
crashed my P.E. class and I taught him how to dance.
We
danced on the rooftop of the computer lab, pretended we both had jobs.
We
danced like fools, like birds, like forgotten poets on a deserted land.
I
told him he had eyes of summer and he said I should not lie.
But
I didn’t. He was my August sun.
We
both ran away from a school trip once
And
just sat on an empty sidewalk, waiting for a ride that we hoped would never
come.
He
told me he loved me and I told him he shouldn’t lie.
But
he didn’t. I smiled, secretly. We had the world in our hands.
We
felt so happy, though guileless.
What
we had was a wonderful fondness,
A
blissful memory, a life of its own.
But
I didn’t know if it was love.
All
of his stories, all of my words, all that we’ve shared were more than us.
Maybe
we’ll never understand.
He
went to the city, I went to another, we were meant for new adventures
Because
youth has ended then.
It
was melancholy they said and I cried like a child.
I
tried to remember how he was so smart, so funny, how he smiled, how he kissed
me,
And
why all of these often crossed my mind.
One
day I went home, learned he was also in town.
I
saw him with his crumpled white shirt on, I smiled.
He
smiled back at me.
It
was nostalgic, complicated. But we’ve grown so much, so apart.
He
was a man now. He was still beautiful.
I
was once his, I thought.
And
he was once mine.
- March 8, 2014
 |
| past perfect. |
