Six years ago, when I was fourteen
And the world was seeing twenty-ten
I met my crush's best friend, also fourteen
But we went separate ways and left it at back then.

We met over Windows Live messenger,
For the younger kids, that was a chat platform
Somewhat of a dinosaur metaphor
And made imaginations of kid's grow warm.

We had a somewhat mutual attraction
Bonded over nothing in common but differences
After a month I asked her out , positive reaction,
So we went to see a movie, following her preferences.

After the movie was done and over,
I told her 'that movie was god awful'
And she says 'I know, I'm not a stoner'
I asked questions, denying my mind to boggle.

'Why did you want to watch it then?'
She replied ' I want to see if you'd stick it out,
And your honesty is an honest ten,
So I'm not really having any doubts'.

I ghosted her, disappeared from all contact
She grew concern but I reassured her I was fine
Then it was in these set of words exact
'I don't think I can be dating a girl I met online'.

Six years later, A few days ago to be precise
As I was waiting the arrival of a train
I noticed a girl, I had to check twice,
Her face was forever indented in my brain.

There she was, 'Tina?' I call out,
She turns around, took a few seconds to think
And without even a shred of doubt
She replied, 'Kevin?', and everything felt in sync.

It's been six years, we have had our changes
But though time was against us, we remembered
As new books get written, new printed pages,
There existed a mark that never burnt in the ember.

'I was meaning to call you', she says politely
'How you don't have my number?'
'Then here', passing me the phone she held tightly
And a smile I did encumber.

Six years, different places, different looks
And yet we ran into one another once again
So although there may be new pages in the books
A story can be written as long as there's a pen.

No matter how many years it has been
She hasn't forgotten my name, nor me
And it will always be stuck in Twenty-sixteen
When I once again met Tee.

The other day I told my boyfriend I wanted to hurt myself
It was just one of those days where I was really depressed
and I felt like I couldn't handle how I was feeling without
causing physical harm to myself
He stopped what he was doing and held me as I cried for twenty minutes
He never once told me to get over myself
to stop being dramatic or anything like that
He just held me
He listened to me
He took time to try to make me feel better
To be emotionally vulnerable and to be accepted without judgement
was a feeling I have never felt before
It was very liberating
It made me feel closer to my boyfriend in a way
*** could never do

She wondered what it would feel like
To escape the rigid boundaries of words
And speak in the fluid language of art

The chemical pull of the pen was exciting
But the blissful sensation of the brush
May give way to time losing its meaning

Her love of art came from her childhood
Story books when opened meant she
Could fall inside the wonderful illustrations

Years of life and years of passion spent inside
Black and white sketches and drawings
Magical incredible frightening and amazing

She feels the silence between poetry and art
She feels them expand and soften until it seems
Like a giant bubble that holds them both

You speak to them like they're ****,
Address them with adjectives I wouldn't like to take,
Mock their misery, and laugh at their pain,
Act like you're their God,
When really all you are is vain,
And I wouldn't care,
Except fate has me associated with you,
Which is more of a shame than pride, most times,
And I'm a little more sensitive to people's emotions than your self centered, ugly heart ever could be,
I'd correct you, teach you right from wrong,
But I'm afraid you're going to sing your own song,
And fanned with my disgust,
Be even more rude to them,
The only thing you are capable of.
*******.