i tried calling the number you left;
it rang two and a half times.
the line must've known what i wanted,
or you must've spoke too soon.
either way, i did not get through to you.

do you still wear those fabrics?
more specifically,
the one that made my fingertips smile,
or the one that held onto smells?
either way, i still think of them.

i still cannot take a shower
without wishing you were there too.

it was the first time i fell in love with the spring time,
when the bradford pears had bloomed after a hard freeze.
coincidentally, the blossoming of my favorite romance.

my body is ready for the summer now
and
my love is dissipating.

you don't miss me.
i'm trying to not you.
though, the melodies and waves
still hang off of my ears
and occasionally, i hear you.
through other forms,
you are always there;
hiding in the folds of my sheets,
barely holding onto the rim of my glasses,
amidst the dirt under my nails.
you find me in other boys,
in the ways their bodies move in ways mine can't.
surely,
just as you think of them with me,
you think of me with them?

i can only hope that at least sometimes you think of me.

the air she shares with me is dense
unlike the before times
when everything was my own, uncompressed.
i only sort of miss it.
laying awake for all the hours of the day,
in bed
curled underneath burnt orange
watching the light fade in and out
as the clouds swam (as they usually do.)
it hits you out of nowhere
like this morning..
awake through the dawn,
i knew i was in love with you.