william william william william william william william william william william

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william william william william william william
william william william william william william william william william william william william
william william william william william william

do i like him
yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes

will i ever be with him
probably not probably not probably not probably not

am i sad about it
yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes

why do i like him
his eyes, his smile, his music taste, his curly hair, his sense of humour, his laugh, him

like an inaccessible mountain
he stands there
looking majestic and
beautiful
i will not ever be with him
and looking at him reminds me
he is not mine
he will not be mine
he can not be mine
unless god intervenes

i don’t want clever conversation
never want to work that hard
i just want someone that i can talk to
i want you just the way you are


not going to be his
not going to be anything but a friend
not going to run my hands through his black curls
not going to see him after we graduate college
not going to talk to him
not going to spend maths lessons with him
not going to talk to him in pe
not going to shove him again

what will i do
get a husband that’s not as good as him
one that doesn’t make me laugh like he does
one who doesn’t have his sense of humour, his curls, his music taste
one that isn’t him

what a **** life
a life without will french
a life without the man who makes me feel like someone cares about me

a life without oxygen
i don’t want to compromise
i’d rather have him
please god
god
god
god
lord
jesus
father
please
yahweh
let me be with him
a heaven without him isn’t heaven
heaven is perfect
he is perfect
perfection
perfect like
the rain
a black cat
his eyes
his hair
his freckles

i know this isn’t healthy, so let
it be
known that i
shan’t,
can’t stop looking at your photo

into your       eyes

feeling a sense of regretfulness

feeling like a sailor lost at sea

i’m a              mess

      but im your mess
     unless                   you
     don’t                    want
this mess to be yours.

august approaches, and i’m
                     still hung up
about your stupidly pretty face

i miss him
like a frayed cardigan
and i miss how he would elaborate
like the bitter wind biting between my fingers
i miss his scent, nostalgic like
an old bookstore or starbucks frappuccino
his eyes like an art gallery
where we went during our lunch break

i miss being ignorant to him
him just being a friend, commenting on
men we found fit while walking.
my type was him, his type was mine
and yet only one of us liked the other

i miss sitting next to him
in maths class, mcdonald’s, the bus
canterbury or the coast
i miss him
and i can’t get over him

but i have to pretend it’s fine because
‘that’s just how life works sometimes’
i reject the premise, i want to cling
onto the idea of him like a lifebuoy