Four Octobers later
all my preludes still sucked
and still the best feeling in the world
is writing poetry in the dark
while lying next to you as you sleep
Some things last forever:
like your obsession for all things ancient,
your clumsily-typewritten attempts at poetry,
my love for tragic paperback boy-heroes
and your walls with glow-in-the dark crescents
or even my journal-ripping habit
whenever you break my heart.

Some things are meant to be missed:
like our secret Spanish phrases,
favorite French kisses, Japanese food
and random drives all over QC
as we lulled our lives away for hours.
Oh, the things we do when we’re in love and bored.

Some things are too painful to forget:
like starless skies
and awkward goodbyes
and you lying next to someone else
while I ripped journals, yelled Spanish expletives,
and wrote poetry in the dark.


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