Corpusemeritus - Hello Poetry

i suppose i’ll never have the kind of young love people adore the grew up on the same street, can i walk you home just to steal one more minute of you kind of love. we didn’t share scraped knees or secret notes, you didn’t teach me how to ride a bike. our lives, continents apart, until the moon—patient, unhurried— decided it was time. and we finally realized we had grown beneath the same stars, the same relentless sun— yours a little harsher, though somehow i am still more tan. as if the universe had quietly aligned us, without asking permission. we saw the similarities too precise to be coincidence. no fireworks when we met. no crash. no blaze. just calm. conversations that flowed like they had been waiting for us, not us for them. maybe you didn’t teach me how to ride a bike, didn’t let me copy your homework, didn’t split your lunch in two. you didn’t watch me grow— the versions of me i broke and rebuilt. but god, i hope i get to grow with you, the history we didn’t have turning into the one we’ll make. because when you looked at me and said hello… i knew i was finally home.

0

Feb 17

Feb 17, 2026 at 5:52 PM UTC

Rewritten

i suppose i’ll never have the kind of young love people adore the grew up on the same street, can i walk you home just to steal one more minute of you kind of love. we didn’t share scraped knees or secret notes, you didn’t teach me how to ride a bike. our lives, continents apart, until the moon—patient, unhurried— decided it was time. and we finally realized we had grown beneath the same stars, the same relentless sun— yours a little harsher, though somehow i am still more tan. as if the universe had quietly aligned us, without asking permission. we saw the similarities too precise to be coincidence. no fireworks when we met. no crash. no blaze. just calm. conversations that flowed like they had been waiting for us, not us for them. maybe you didn’t teach me how to ride a bike, didn’t let me copy your homework, didn’t split your lunch in two. you didn’t watch me grow— the versions of me i broke and rebuilt. but god, i hope i get to grow with you, the history we didn’t have turning into the one we’ll make. because when you looked at me and said hello… i knew i was finally home.

37

i suppose i’ll never have the kind of young love people adore the grew up on the same street, can i walk you home just to steal one more minute of you kind of love. we didn’t share scraped knees or secret notes, you didn’t teach me how to ride a bike. our lives, continents apart, until the moon—patient, unhurried— decided it was time. and we finally realized we had grown beneath the same stars, the same relentless sun— yours a little harsher, though somehow i am still more tan. as if the universe had quietly aligned us, without asking permission. we saw the similarities too precise to be coincidence. no fireworks when we met. no crash. no blaze. just calm. conversations that flowed like they had been waiting for us, not us for them. maybe you didn’t teach me how to ride a bike, didn’t let me copy your homework, didn’t split your lunch in two. you didn’t watch me grow— the versions of me i broke and rebuilt. but god, i hope i get to grow with you, the history we didn’t have turning into the one we’ll make. because when you looked at me and said hello… i knew i was finally home.

0

Feb 17

Feb 17, 2026 at 5:52 PM UTC

Rewritten

i suppose i’ll never have the kind of young love people adore the grew up on the same street, can i walk you home just to steal one more minute of you kind of love. we didn’t share scraped knees or secret notes, you didn’t teach me how to ride a bike. our lives, continents apart, until the moon—patient, unhurried— decided it was time. and we finally realized we had grown beneath the same stars, the same relentless sun— yours a little harsher, though somehow i am still more tan. as if the universe had quietly aligned us, without asking permission. we saw the similarities too precise to be coincidence. no fireworks when we met. no crash. no blaze. just calm. conversations that flowed like they had been waiting for us, not us for them. maybe you didn’t teach me how to ride a bike, didn’t let me copy your homework, didn’t split your lunch in two. you didn’t watch me grow— the versions of me i broke and rebuilt. but god, i hope i get to grow with you, the history we didn’t have turning into the one we’ll make. because when you looked at me and said hello… i knew i was finally home.

37

I always thought love had to be loud. And yet- I hope it doesn’t I hope it creeps up behind you when it’s the last thing you want, when you don’t even notice. That it reveals itself in the small, in the late nights, in the want-but-can’t-haves, the I miss you toos, the soft see you soons. The moments you clutch as tightly as I do. The conversations, the x’s. Oh, how I hope this is it. Because how cruel would it be if the universe brought me a soul so close to mine, not to hold, only to taste. To make me adore, more than crave. To give me hope, to make me whisper, oh God, let it be him— only to turn and rip it away.

0

Feb 13

Feb 13, 2026 at 11:26 AM UTC

Delusion of a hopeless romantic

I always thought love had to be loud. And yet- I hope it doesn’t I hope it creeps up behind you when it’s the last thing you want, when you don’t even notice. That it reveals itself in the small, in the late nights, in the want-but-can’t-haves, the I miss you toos, the soft see you soons. The moments you clutch as tightly as I do. The conversations, the x’s. Oh, how I hope this is it. Because how cruel would it be if the universe brought me a soul so close to mine, not to hold, only to taste. To make me adore, more than crave. To give me hope, to make me whisper, oh God, let it be him— only to turn and rip it away.

27

My plants are green— of course they are. What else could they be? The grass is green too. But tell me— is it greener than the winter-bright blue of your eyes, sharper than cold, sharper than knowing? Is it as deep as roses learning your mouth by heart, as dark as the places in me that learned your name in silence, that took on the color of your hair? I don’t think I’ll ever know. I live on the other side now— where the grass is meant to be greener, the sky owes me clarity, the sun should love me more. But your eyes still find me, your lips still end my nights, and your hair— softer now, threaded with gray— still tangles in my hands like it never left. They were right about the grass. It is greener here. But my plants are dead, and I am still here, loving you like nothing else is allowed to grow.

0

Feb 11

Feb 11, 2026 at 6:51 PM UTC

Greener

My plants are green— of course they are. What else could they be? The grass is green too. But tell me— is it greener than the winter-bright blue of your eyes, sharper than cold, sharper than knowing? Is it as deep as roses learning your mouth by heart, as dark as the places in me that learned your name in silence, that took on the color of your hair? I don’t think I’ll ever know. I live on the other side now— where the grass is meant to be greener, the sky owes me clarity, the sun should love me more. But your eyes still find me, your lips still end my nights, and your hair— softer now, threaded with gray— still tangles in my hands like it never left. They were right about the grass. It is greener here. But my plants are dead, and I am still here, loving you like nothing else is allowed to grow.

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