i.
***** blond hair and braces,
beanie and a sweatshirt,
you were the secondary third wheel
along with myself.
you put on all four hats and
nearly choked on your soda
at someone’s ***** joke.

ii.
hair parted sideways,
black-ringed blue eyes,
we vaguely remembered each other
and talked a bit before going back
to the ones who had originally brought us.
the blue was pretty and you had a bubbly laugh
and were dressed nicer than before.
we finally memorized each other’s names
and when it was time to go,
we hugged and I told you to
drop by again soon.

iii.
braces off and longer hair,
your board had a new paintjob.
we enthusiastically greeted each other
with a hug and an exchange of names
and we ended up sitting at the computer
for most of the afternoon and evening.
we talked without restraint and
had definitely become easy friends.

iv.
hair shaved off on the sides,
the rest slicked back like a new-age greaser,
you smelled slightly of stale cigarettes
when I tucked my face against your neck
for our routine hug.
I squeezed you tight and brushed my thumbs
across the leather of your jacket.
you were angry and stressed but didn’t really show it
and I wasn’t sure what to do with my still-new
feelings for you.
I held your hands outside that night
and asked you to quit again,
because people come and go and life’s too short
to make it even shorter
by ******* on a stick of chemicals and tobacco.
you said you’d quit soon and thanked me for being there.

v.
you stayed over
and we spent most of our time
swapping songs and playing video games
and snacking on poptarts and arizona.
I woke up the next morning to find that
you hadn’t slept
and wondered what you must have been thinking about
that could keep you up all those hours.

vi.
we saw a bad movie together tonight.
our heads bumped multiple times
and we both had to pull up our legs
since our heels barely touch the floor comfortably.
your forehead would wrinkle when you were looking up
and it gave you an air of maturity
that I didn’t know you could pull off.
I wanted to kiss you
but didn’t know what you thought of me
so I didn’t.

don't think about the farmer's market and sitting at cheap plastic tables that felt like they could blow away as easily as a hat in chicago
don’t think about the styrofoam bowls filled with rice and teriyaki chicken that you couldn’t eat and the napkins that always got scattered everywhere
don’t think about the singer under the tent who’d strum and hum and provide the perfect ambience as the sun was getting low in the winter
don’t think about how the burgundy sweatshirt was almost too big for his frame and how it would swamp yours completely, sleeves easily surpassing your fingertips
don’t think about how the buzz of shoppers and shopkeeps merely mirrored the buzz of excitement that radiated between you both
don’t think about the way he’d laugh with a napkin over his mouth and pull his shoulders up, clearly nervous
don’t think about the way his eyes lit up at the mention of certain subjects and how he’d rattle on about them
don’t think about how miserable he seemed at the thought of school but how quietly joyful he became when you said you’d be glad to pick him up after if he’d like
don’t think about how you saw the difference you were making and were so glad to have him so close

but really, just don’t think about how
the sun made you squint and you sat across the cheap plastic table from him in his hated burgundy school sweater with his chicken and rice
and the way you had to tilt your head slightly to hear his soft voice over the rolling energy of the crowd
and that you were allowed to touch again and how you gladly took advantage of that to calm your own nerves
and how you couldn’t even imagine half the things that have happened since that first day you got lunch.

we are the girls with the short messy hair
we are the boys with the skin tight jeans
we are the children with eyes like stars and smiles like liquid mercury and laughs like cold sunlight on an overcast day
and we are your future.

one thing I’ve been unable to completely reconcile
is the ability for humans to turn cheek when one’s face simply crumples.
you know the moment
when the muscles around the lips tense and their throat tries to work as they begin to squint.
there’s a harsh inhalation and then the eyes well up with tears.
the cheeks flush and the nostrils flare and all you can see is suffering,
from the way their shoulders tense then droop
and to the raw defeat that washes off them in waves.
how does one merely avert their gaze when this happens?
how does one not immediately attempt to console the sufferer?
how does one manage to swivel around and walk away,
shoulders hunched, head down, hands balled in pockets,
one more slump of misery and the picture of one that has weathered just a few too many storms,
when there is no greater act of kindness than to extend an offering of faith
and perhaps some meager comfort to those that suffer?

how do we sleep at night when
our friend, our neighbor,
our child, our parent,
our coworker, our teacher,
our fellow human being
can crumple before us
and we do nothing to help?

you say you’re sorry
but, love, that just doesn’t cut it anymore.

i.
the city lights twinkled in every direction around us
as the wind blew and our hair flew and
I spread my arms to fly as you clung to the rooftop.
you apologized on the way downstairs
and I forgave you because not everyone is brave enough to let go.

ii.
you called me, crying and apologizing, late
the night before christmas eve.
I listened to your voice quiver
and your sighs and your shaky inhalations
and I forgave you because I knew you had lashed out while you were hurt.

iii.
I submerged my head for a moment beneath the chlorinated, sloshing mess
and felt the dull yank of the jets and my shorts billow out.
steam billowed off my shoulders and the surface of the water
as I inhaled and looked skyward.
the stars blurred and danced without my glasses
and I forgave you because I knew how terrifying it could be to have only yourself in such a big world.

iv.
my forgiveness scared you and you left yet again.
my heart aches and my head aches and it’s so very hard to sleep.
I wonder if you think about me and if you’re regretful anew
and if you’re biding your time so that I forget the promise you made
to not play this game again.
I will forgive you in time, love,
because I don’t believe in being unhappy over the past,
but you are not excused and you are not forgiven
and no matter how much I adore your freckles and
the way your face lights up when you laugh and
how you feel so deeply and care so ******* much,
despite the fact that I know you’re terrified
and that you don’t know how to operate properly,
you have to clean up the entirety of your messes
before you can slip back into my life.

I love(d) you. but you’ve been quite the daft boy this time.

enough.

his breath burned as it hit glass skin
(thin and delicate and so easy to break)
and I fogged like a windowpane in winter.
his fingertips left winding patterns, intricate and beautiful,
but the condensation never evaporated
and I was left looking like an untouchable work of art,
his signature scrawled all over my body
like proof of ownership and a warning sign.
"do not touch."

there’s something incredibly intimate about writing something on your skin.
a note, a number, a date, a word
that slowly blurs and is absorbed
until it’s no longer legible
and is instead a grey-blue blur of
vaguely recalled intentions.

so the next time you blow on the inside of your wrist
and wait for the ink to dry
remember that you’re committing whatever it is you’ve written
to your physical body’s memory
and that ink will swirl through you,
remnants of whatever idea you grasped so tightly to.