It is 9:23 AM, February 18
I should be doing my homework.
Instead I'm writing poetry, wearing your sweatshirt.
It shouldn't smell like you. It should smell like dryer sheets.
It smells like mint. It smells earthy, like tea and coffee and
nutmeg and all the other
smells that I've come to associate with you.

It is 9:04 AM and two teachers come walking through the door. I could kiss you, but instead my head is on your shoulder and your head is on my head and our right hands intertwined and your left hand
is in my hair and your lips are against my head whispering
'i love you, grace'
and so I whisper it back, my lips barely moving because
it doesn't take much effort to love you
so it shouldn't take effort to tell you.

It is 8:50 AM and you tell me to lean on your shoulder. At first you're tense and unsure, but then you let yourself relax into me.

It is 8:45 and I walk towards you in the hallway. You turn me around and whisper that we should go where no one will find us.

It is 9:30 and I'm still wearing your sweatshirt and I could've gotten things done but I'm so lovestruck that all I can do is write run-on sentences that refuse to turn into prose.

It is 9:31 and I'm really bad at endings, so let's just never say goodbye.

But now it's 11:11, October 30.
8 months later.
I haven't worn your sweatshirts in months and
we haven't spoken since July.
today is the day I start to regret
wasting all my wishes on you