I saw you a few minutes ago
and you were laughing (and I had to laugh too)
but you didn't really look at me at all
yet it was way too hard to not look at you
and I have no idea how to explain
exactly how that moment felt
but I thought about your smile again
(and I had to smile too)
but then really fast I stopped
because the you that was just smiling
in the lobby of the building where we first kissed
was you exactly how you were six months ago
but somehow I couldn't see myself in your life anymore
and it wasn't like before
when I knew of course that I wasn't in your life anymore
but it was like I knew I wasn't
and I couldn't even see how it made sense
that I ever had been at all
and then I felt like crying
and I'm not even sure why
but I picked everything up
and I left right away
and now I'm upstairs
in the middle of the chair where we first kissed
and nothing feels the same
but I don't know how it's different
because I don't remember how it felt before
and now you're really quickly fading
from the person I thought was perfect
and couldn't believe was mine
(and then couldn't believe I had lost)
to another senior boy
who does his homework
in the lobby of the building where I go too
who barely even knows who I am
and wouldn't think twice
if he didn't say a word to me all year
and I don't want you to be that
(as in I need you to not be that)
but I don't know how to tell you
because it's already too late
and my thoughts aren't organizing themselves well
(as in this is probably my worst poem ever)
but I'm so shaken up
just by sitting near you
as you were laughing
and I don't know what's happening
but I hate what it's doing to me
and really all I want
is to have whatever I'm missing back
but I don't even remember what it was anymore.

I had always been really excited
to be able to share an autumn with you.
(I was naïve to assume we'd even get past summer,
but) I absolutely couldn't wait for you and I
to try and name the exact colors
of the leaves we picked off the ground,
and I couldn't wait
to borrow your sweaters
(as if they could have kept me
any warmer than your hugs would)
and to kiss you while
the taste of our last lattes
were still on our lips.
I had wanted to read Thoreau
in the corner of the library,
right next to you
as you tried to perfect your journalism assignment
and not be able to focus on my book
because your thoughtful expression
was far too adorable not to distract me.

(I was right; you look best in fall colors.
But it's stopped being my place
to tell you things like that anymore.)

For all the months we spent together, you only kissed me once. You tasted like spearmint gum, and like the burst of laughter you held back between our lips, and it was a "to be continued" kind of kiss. Every time after that we were picking up where we left off—extensions of that first kiss in March, extra pages to extra chapters to extra volumes in the story of you and me. You were a library book, one I hadn't read before. And in the back of my mind I knew you wouldn't be mine forever. But you were new and you were exciting and I couldn't wait for the next time I could open you up and be reminded how much I loved the taste of spearmint.

But sooner or later it was going to have to end. I knew this, I knew it, I really did; I just told myself if I didn't think about it it wouldn't happen. It did happen though. Sure enough, the due date to my library book came around—way too fast. I was almost sure that I had you for much longer, and for that reason I didn't even get to read the ending of the story. But I had to return all of the kisses and the laughter and the gum…as well as giving up all of the ones I hadn't gotten to yet, because I had had no idea when the words "the end" were going to be coming up.

And so the next time you kissed me, our second official kiss, I hadn't expected so much of a plot twist. I had finally renewed my library book, but my favorite character died, and the villain turned himself in, and the hero and the girl he loved were falling apart. You had stopped chewing spearmint gum, and the laughter was gone—replaced with the bitter taste of self-doubt and uncertainty. I pulled away faster than I expected, suddenly nervous and not sure why. I closed the book and handed it back to you, with the ending I had wished so desperately to be able to read, but not the one I had expected at all.