Autumn leaves.
Autumn leaves us in a wake of what used to be, golden, brown, red memories fill our heads
with promises of a summer never to end.
But it did,
and now it's here,
and I'm falling down like autumn leaves.
Autumn leaves me questioning why those clouds ever had to move away from that beach house
and why the cold wind ever had to ******* away.
And why you never wanted to sit inside,
because we froze our ***** off just sitting on the rocks
and it didn't matter how much we shook, whether it be from the pills or the winter wind,
we didn't go inside.
Autumn leaves us with a bitter winter, pretty for a second, and then gone with the blustering wind
like some kind of ******-up morning after.
Autumn leaves me with a heartbreak, not my first, not my last
but an in-between overdramatized romance novel
with a disclaimer at the beginning that said: This is not a love story. There is no happy ending. (Is there ever?)
You filled my lungs like smoke, and you made my head spin like butane.
You were my first drag of my first cigarette, and my last goodbye of the first summer I stopped caring.
You are this town, a whole lifetime of crushes and a coffee shop down the street.
You're no more than a paper heart, bent up and torn at the edges.
I'm no more than a pathetic piece of tape, trying to hold you together, trying to fit your mold.
Autumn leaves us with an awkward silence, louder than any concert I'd ever gone to with you, any concert I'd ever liked to go to with you.
We could've drawn straws in a steamy cafe on a cold night, but Autumn never gave us a chance to start over with September.
Autumn leaves us with damage-control after your calamity, and the irrevocable steps I took to fall into you.
Do you even remember how I was on that first day? Nervous eyes and conversations about colors?
Do you remember the talk about getting out, New York City in all its romanticized glory?
Autumn left me with an emptiness in the pit of my stomach, because I feel so lost without you.

there was a boy, with a name like a superhero
and hair like the ocean
i think he knew he was special,
from the way he dressed to how he didn't give half a ****,
he knew he wasn't like the rest of us
he's out of this world,
alienated, quick, loud
he was floating on clouds
and he never came down.
don't ask me if i loved him,
because i didn't.
don't ask me if i thought he was perfect,
because you know i did.
and his eyes are deep as the sea,
begging me to come out to shore, come out to play
in the depths of the waters
and i stared into his eyes in the middle of the crowds
and watched the tears appear in his eyes
and disappear just as quickly, because he can cry on demand.
his brother is gay and his father is on the board
and his hugs make me feel warm.
i know this boy
and he colors outside of the lines
and he breaks the crayon in half,
and finds another way to express himself.

He always asks me why.
"Why are you so sorry?"
Well, let me count the reasons on my fingers
even though I'd need more hands than just my own.
- I'm sorry that I care too much and not enough at the same time
- I'm sorry I say the wrong thing at the wrong time
- I'm sorry the moon hides when the sun comes, and the sun for the moon
- I'm sorry I keep talking about him, he's all I can think about
- I'm sorry I keep losing atoms
- I'm sorry I have worry thoughts that cloud my brain like smoke
- I'm sorry I like the smallest stars better than the bigger ones
- I'm sorry I can't write poetry
- I'm sorry I like stupid boy bands
- I'm sorry California is so far away
- and that I can't drive
- I'm sorry I like 90s TV shows and movies more than the ones they play now
- I'm sorry I don't have more hands (then maybe I could keep my head held high)
- I'm sorry I bolted at the mall when I saw them
- I'm sorry I never said goodbye to Popou, even though Jimmy kept telling me to, even though they said he wasn't going to die that night
- I'm sorry the chemicals in my brain don't work right (but I'm trying really hard to fix it)
- I'm sorry my anxiety rules my life, because that is not who I am
- and I'm sorry for saying sorry so much
- for being a hypocrite
- and spending too much of my time on Netflix
- I'm sorry chameleons never get a chance to be themselves
- I'm sorry it took me so long to get over him
- I'm sorry that I don't believe you
- I'm sorry that they don't have Wawa's on the west coast
- and I'm sorry Dobby died
  I'm sorry to you, too, for all of these reasons.

I am not wired to be happy.
Have you ever seen Easy Runner?
I am not like everyone else, I do not fit in with the in crowd, and I'm not like the out crowd.
I really should be going.
I don't like Pokemon, and I don't like anime.
Maybe.
I don't want to chop off all my hair, or dress up like a boy.
I do weird things sometimes.
I hate the way he looked into my eyes, because what if he thought I was a freak?
I don't think you're annoying.
I loved the way he did his own thing, and how he acted when he was hopped up on energy shots.
I doubt it.
But what if he thought I was a freak?
Magical.
Maybe, one day, I will get out of this house and realize that I am not what I make myself out to be.
Do comics count?
And maybe one day I won't be so scared of his purple sweatshirt or the way he waves to me.
I don't know why that sounds so interesting.
But that day is not today.
*I get like that sometimes.

i remember the first time bryn brought a boy for christmas
his name was chris
and we had to distinguish between him and my cousin chris
so we called him gay chris
because he had lots of pockets
and he always looked better than my cousins
who hardly ever tried to look presentable.
i remember last christmas
how damon gave elise
sweaters from a thrift shop and fleetwood mac records
and how happy she was.
i never wanted to be allie from the notebook,
and i never wanted you to be noah.
in the 8th grade,
hidden between shelves of a torn-down library where i'd sit for hours,
was a short, thick book with pages of romanticized post-it notes
and the smell of sawdust.
dash and lily's book of dares
was all the things i'd been dreaming about.
the first-glance feelings in the middle of new york,
the warm feeling melting through your bones with an even warmer drink.
i've always wanted a chris
or a shaina
or a natasha.
i've always imagined thanksgiving day going differently for once in my life.
when my uncle asks me if i'm texting my boyfriend,
i want to say "yes, actually" and i wanted to find a boy
to take to my grandmother's house.
i wanted to show him
how tristan would pay me to go sneak him cookies,
and the way we fought over couches.
but now we took all the couches out of the basement,
and i think someone else is living in that house.
but there's still thanksgiving,
there's still an extra seat at the table,
and i'm not sure but i think justin is bringing maya this year.
so when it is my turn to go around the house and say hello to everyone,
and my uncle asks, "how many boyfriends do you have?" teasingly,
i can smile and say "just one"
and it can be you.

I left my heart in that tiny room,
with such little space,
you could hardly walk through the door.
I left my heart next to my blue guitar,
up in the window where you greeted me,
down the wooden steps we came bounding down.
I left my heart on the table in the kitchen,
where we sat and made rhythms
because there wasn't enough room at the table.
I left my heart in the sand on the beach,
where we walked when my dad made us get the hell out of that room,
where we'd stay forever, if we could.
I left my heart next to my headphones,
still playing the soundtrack of my summer,
the one that got me through those endless hours in the car.
I left my heart on the corner of the hot tub,
where you made me read you magazine articles,
and we took Courteney there after dinner.
I left my heart in the still of the night,
when you made fun of my music,
while we got lost and didn't even mind.
I left my heart next to my suitcase
when I packed up to leave
and didn't want to wake you up before I left.