on that cold and rainy night
amidst delayed flights and the six strings on your guitar,
you told me that you got a concussion from playing soccer
a little too rough in my hometown
and how you couldn't wait to get drunk with your grandmother
on Thanksgiving.
you enjoyed going through the security line at the airport
because you "loved looking at your **** in boxes."
how did you and I end up coming from and going to the same place
without finding each other in between?

most days, I walk around with my head on completely straight;
remembering all of the mundane things that I have to do before bed:
study for your history test, do your laundry, call your mother.
but then I see a boy who looks a little too much
like you did when you were seventeen
or a car that looks like the one that you drove
home from soccer practice junior year.
and all of the sudden, I don't have any clean socks
and my mother is worried because she hasn't
heard from me in a few days.
I think that's the worst part of being in love only sometimes.

at two o clock in the morning,
it feels a lot like love.
but after I've had my first cup of coffee,
I ask myself "how can you be in love
with somebody
when you can't even remember
the sound of his voice?"

they say that you shouldn't
make homes out of human beings,
but material things don't complete me
the way you do.

you went out of your way to "bump into me"
and say hello on a Thursday afternoon.
when I excitedly told my friends,
they brushed it off like it was no big deal.
I guess this sort of thing
doesn't happen to me very often.

take yourself out to dinner
if no one else will.
if you don't treat yourself right,
why would you expect
anyone else to?

if you make me feel better
about striking out in whiffle ball
or playfully cutting in front of me
in the cafeteria,
I will not accept responsibility
for falling in love with you.

a very wise professor once told me
not to tell somebody that you love them
if you don't care how they're doing.
so don't set someone on fire
just to watch them burn.

If you were a book
I would stay up all night
Feverishly flipping pages
Soaking up every single syllable
To know your ending

If you were a tropical island
I would explore your lush, secret interior
Spending long, lazy afternoons naked
Sun drunk on your shores

If you were a ***** joke
I would throw my cackles to the ceiling
Careful to not burst windows
Making sure to retell you often
Your punch line only gets better

If you were a roller coaster
I would wait in line for half the day
Just to be caressed by your safety harness soaked in other's sweat
Not to mention your talent with G-spots, I mean forces

If you were early morning
I would brew you strong and extra hot
Sipping cautiously at your porcelain edges
Watching blue smoke lazily curl
Then taking deep gulps as you cool
Buzzed on you til the afternoon

If you were mine
I would fill up your long dried and crusted ink wells
Encourage your laughter to come out to play
But above all
I would love you. Madly.

Rest these weary thoughts away
The ones that knock
The ones that stay
The ones that lurk until it's night
Creep and crawl until it's bright
The sun, it shatters the reverie
Of sleepless dreams that never flee
They wait at bay, inching, itching
Etching, scratching,
clawing, stitching
When at night and all alone
They hit the ball, run it home
Leaving bags under your eyes
Thoughts annoy, like summer flies
No sleep, again
A rerun that will never end.