You make me want to pull up my covers and think about you till I get sick of the sound of your name
but I never will.
I've exhausted my allies, they're all sick of hearing about whether or not I chose to wave to you in the hallway today.
It's like you've tattoo'd yourself on my tongue, so every time I open my mouth to speak all I have to talk about is the desire to pursue the idea of you more.
How much of me do you want before you actually choose me?
Before you lend me your thoughts and I mind them for you?
Is all I am an idea to you, a passing thought, nothing more than a daydream? Because if so,
please
just
tell
me

A place I've shared half of my memories with.
It has held and embraced my most vulnerable moments,
carried me through each stage of my life, my first day of middle school, my first job, my first date, road trip.
It carried me home that day I got my period in Pei Wei but refused to call my mom and leave early because I was hanging out with the cool theatre kids.
It carried me home the night of graduation, and held me while I sobbed and thought the world I had so carefully crafted around me was falling apart.
It never spat back what I gave it.
Instead, it wrapped it's polyester arms around me and didn't let go until the world was right side up again.
The passenger seat, given a name to indicate it's existence lies solely in the idea that there must be a driver.
A mother, friend, stranger,
A lover to your left, the world to your right and endless possibilities in front of you.
Whether it be screaming at the top of your lungs to a song you minimally like, or spilling ranch on the seat because "you didn't slow down fast enough that wasn't my fault!"
Now I bravely sit in the drivers seat, the world at my fingertips.
And as I bravely glance over to my 11 year old brother sitting beside me, I know it is his turn to sit back and watch.

I see you
In grocery receipts, in faces at the mall, in college applications.
I cannot escape you, because I think no matter how hard I try, where you planted your flowers will always overgrow mine.
I look for signs of you in every person I meet.
Try to find minimal traits that lead me back to you.
I want you to find me again, to call from an unknown number so I will not know it is you and hear your voice and feel everything all over again.
I want to feel all over again.

I'm listening to a song that is slow and gentle, it tickles my ears like your whispers used to.
I haven't spoken to you in months.
Yes, we've said hello and exchanged a few words, but I really haven't seen you in months.
I miss you, and now you finally know how much.
You know how much this burns, you know how much damage has been done.
We haven't spoken in months.
If I look for long enough I can still find your fingerprints across my skin. They're dulling, and each day it gets easier to watch them spiral around the sink bowl and down the drain.
I hold onto the moments I spent with you because they make me happy. I hold onto the memories I have of you not with hope, but with gratitude.
I thank you for showing me love, for showing me how heartache works so I know how to look out for it next time.
Thank you for teaching me a lesson no one else could.
Thank you for some of the best and worst times of my life.
Thank you.
This isn't goodbye, I'll probably get a few more poems out of you before I close the door on we.
So...see you later.
p.s. this poem ***** because you tend to toss my thoughts around in my head, you ****.

The last time you were here you told me you knew.
You told me you knew that I had "feelings, or past feelings" and that you "had multiple sources."
However, you never mentioned that they weren't mutual, never told me that you didn't want to ruin our relationship blah blah blah.
You never rejected them, you welcomed them. Encouraged them when you put your fingers to my pulse to check how fast my heart was beating with your touch.
You laughed when I said there were no poems about you, you were convinced otherwise.
And then the next day when I sent the "only one that existed" you responded with "Woah! So it is a thing! Awh!"
You also apologized for "bringing up the past in that way," and mentioned that it "was wack."
I apologized if my feelings made you uncomfortable in any way and you said "it is what it is."
It is what it is?
What is?
What the hell does that mean?
Why say that?
Why why why?
I love you a lot, but please, tell me soon.
What we have doesn't not mean something, right?
What we have is bigger than everyone's disapproval, right?
I miss you.

I've never really known what it is that you do to me.
You just make me really happy, in a way that only seems to make sense in my head.
I saw you yesterday for the first time in 2 months.
My entire body reacted. It was like tasting wine after a lifetime of only knowing water, everything inside me exploded.
I was euphoric, ready to jump into your arms and spend as much time with you as you could fit in.
I maybe spent 5 minutes with you alone, sitting in my kitchen while eating a bowl of popcorn, talking about what the future held for you.
Then I was whisked away by my friends, only to spend time watching them kiss and laugh. Thankfully neither of those included me, however, it hurt.
Spending time with you makes me the happiest and they knew that, and decided anyway that it was only right I saw to my plans with them.
But two months I had gone without seeing you, and only two hours I wished to be without them.
The two of them spent the night cuddled in each others arms while I stood to the side and held my tongue, not wanting to disturb the bubble they created.
I let that time with you slip right between my fingers and crumble onto the floor.
2 whole months, and I only got two minutes.

Most people love the sound of rain to fall asleep to.
But I cant stand it.
Not when I'm alone and you're a thousand miles away.
Not when the darkness in my room feels like it could swallow me whole.
You're across the country worrying about the weather and money for the bus to the city, and I'm worried about how much longer it will be until your back on the same grounds I am.
It was only two days ago that you left, you came the night before.
We were sat on my sofa, a movie softly humming before us.
You were beginning to get distracted by things like orange juice and how well it paired with whip cream.
Suddenly you embraced me in the most childlike way possible, but somehow it worked.
Your arms were around me.
I took in a deep breath and felt my heart beating rapidly, I was sure you could feel it too.
But then I felt so peaceful, like it had always been this way and always would.
You made me laugh so hard that night, and you laughed at the sound of mine, like you hadn't expected to, such a genuine smile spread across your face. Then later as the movie came to a close, I was dancing my fingertips across the span of your arm as you were falling asleep.
I looked down at your face and watched your chest rise and fall steadily, your eyes so delicately closed, and wished so hard for them not to open until the sun came up. So I could stay down here with you and cozy up next to your chest and listen to your heartbeat.
My own metronome.
But you did wake up, and we did go upstairs as you made your way to your temporary room for the night and I made my way to my own room.
I wanted to wake up early the next morning, to say goodbye before you were off to your flight.
I even set an alarm, determined to wish you a safe flight and silently whisper how much I loved you to myself.
But somehow I couldn't manage to move.
I felt so heavy, like every weight in the world was tied to my wrists and ankles, only making it harder when I pulled.
So I turned over and went back to bed.

Now I'm lying in my bed again, and the sound of the rain has subsided, but the ache of not having you here has not. My fingers hurt like their arthritic because they aren't woven in yours.

You're a thousand miles away, and all that's left of the storm is the drops of condensation falling down my window. It's watered the flowers that you planted in my mind, just please come home soon and tend to them.

I miss you dearly.