the worst thing about loving
the sound of someone’s voice
is that you end up looking for it
in every room you walk into,
even though you know that voice
will never wake you up in the morning.

she puts on a little more makeup before class,
even though she knows that he won’t notice
anyway. she’s sure to put on that shade
of lipstick that her thirteen year old cousin
Sarah says is a work of art, even though it’s not
going to make him want to kiss her any more than
he did the day before.  she’s not too sure if she’s
doing it for him or if she’s doing it for her.

whatever you do, please remember
the sound of your little brother’s voice.
it’s not going to stay like that forever,
no matter how much you want it to.
record it. save his voice mails.
do anything you have to do.
because that’s what’s going to
make you feel at home when it’s
three in the morning and you’re alone
in a city that no longer belongs to you.

sometimes, girls with monogrammed
backpacks will hold the boy with
the tattooed arms a little closer
than you want them to.
remember that there has to be a girl
who gets movie nights with her mother
instead of a date with the boy
with the candescent eyes. and sometimes,
that girl is going to be you. but not always.
oh darling, not always.

keep your head up my love, and remember that
if it doesn’t work out, your best friend is still
willing to share custody of a cat with you.
you can still move into that apartment
in New York with the windows that overlook
the pale city lights. it just doesn’t have to be
with him. there are others who will love you
much better than he did, and he will build you
a window seat next to that city view
so that you will be inspired to write poetry.
just live for yourself, sweet girl, and all will be well.

we are the dreamers. we are the pranksters,
the pillow fort makers, and the lightning rod keepers.
we are the runners, running away from
everything we’ve ever known, but we always come right back.
we don’t know black and white, we never did.
we make each other’s lives a little more colorful.
the rest of my life, I will never have anything quite as beautiful.

I want you to look at me when I walk in the room.
I want you to forget how beautiful you think I am,
and for me to see you remember over and over again.
I want to talk to you for hours on top
of the parking garage and if it’s too cold,
I want to wear your jacket without even having to ask.
I want to know your favorite song and why you care
about it so much. I’m sorry; it’s just that I’ve never felt this way
about anybody before. I hope that I’m not invisible to you.
Nashville brought us together, but New Jersey might tear us apart.