You were always shocked
when I would ask questions
that to you were seemingly
unnecessary,
trivial,
purposeless,
by your harsh definition.
Like you favourite colour.
Orange, you said.
When I wanted to know if your preference
leaned more towards sunsets
or fire
or tamer things,
you told me to stop asking so many questions.
It was orange, that was all.
When you bought flowers
I was surprised to see that they were pink.
It might not have mattered, but it got me thinking
about how much you don’t care to know.
Little things speak volumes,
but you disregard them.
Because it is easier to fall in love
on a superficial level,
but I crave depth.
So here I am in small pieces:
I take my coffee black.
I like to do crosswords in the paper like an old person,
and I can’t finish most of them.
I have terrible vision but refuse to wear glasses.
In quiet moments, I talk with myself like an old friend
and it is a strange illusion.
I collect business cards,
stones,
feathers,
teapots,
and strangers.
I like fridge magnets
and no sound can ****** me
quite like a good song can.
I cry when I'm angry.
I write bad poetry.
I love to laugh.
I’m a terrible swimmer.
I hate the colour pink.
You should have known that much.
At the very least, you should have wanted to.
When it comes to love my dear,
you have a lot to learn.
-Emma Cooper