Dear summer boy,
I hate the idea of you.
I hate how you walk four steps ahead
your shoulders proud, walking around, eyes looking
at all the possibilities the world, this park, and this town has to offer.
I hate the skip to your walk
the pearly whites that show when you smile.
I write this in purple ink in my notebook because
blue ink is to remember,
and black ink is to make you official
as if I were printing you on a page if my life were a book
and we as permanent as ink.
You are not permanent.
I am not permanent,
The number four and the word “stupid” i see branded
in my reflection will go away.
Boy, I am not in love with you.
I will not remember the feel of you holding my hand in a years time.
Still, I will not settle.
I will not settle for a pat in the back
a sorry excuse of a goodbye,
words given to me on a piece of paper
that like myself, has rough and broken edges
and a signature like you— that is illegible.
I want my words from me to you, back
so I can eventually give them to someone who
does not see me as an addition to a list or a number on a scale.
I want looks exchanged across a room and
tears spilled on my cheeks as we kissed returned
because boy, I hate how charming you are.
I hate your stupid dance moves
and the black and white shirt that hung in your dorm.
The way you looked at me from underneath sunglasses,
cute grins reserved only for me (so I thought at the time),
the memory of the night when land rolled by us
and rain poured on my face, that was resting on your shoulder
as the wind whispered “this could be forever”
I hate the softness of your lips and most importantly boy,
I hate how you walk four steps ahead
your shoulders proud
walking around, eyes looking at
all the possibilities the world has to offer.
After all, I was walking four feet behind and I could see your back whilst looking at what the opportunities that this park, town, and world had.
That I did not see an option because
you were a possibility.
A possibility I never was for you.
Because you were four steps ahead
and I was not in sight.
Dear summer boy,
I was so in love with the idea of you.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 11:27 PM UTC
Dear summer boy,
I hate the idea of you.
I hate how you walk four steps ahead
your shoulders proud, walking around, eyes looking
at all the possibilities the world, this park, and this town has to offer.
I hate the skip to your walk
the pearly whites that show when you smile.
I write this in purple ink in my notebook because
blue ink is to remember,
and black ink is to make you official
as if I were printing you on a page if my life were a book
and we as permanent as ink.
You are not permanent.
I am not permanent,
The number four and the word “stupid” i see branded
in my reflection will go away.
Boy, I am not in love with you.
I will not remember the feel of you holding my hand in a years time.
Still, I will not settle.
I will not settle for a pat in the back
a sorry excuse of a goodbye,
words given to me on a piece of paper
that like myself, has rough and broken edges
and a signature like you— that is illegible.
I want my words from me to you, back
so I can eventually give them to someone who
does not see me as an addition to a list or a number on a scale.
I want looks exchanged across a room and
tears spilled on my cheeks as we kissed returned
because boy, I hate how charming you are.
I hate your stupid dance moves
and the black and white shirt that hung in your dorm.
The way you looked at me from underneath sunglasses,
cute grins reserved only for me (so I thought at the time),
the memory of the night when land rolled by us
and rain poured on my face, that was resting on your shoulder
as the wind whispered “this could be forever”
I hate the softness of your lips and most importantly boy,
I hate how you walk four steps ahead
your shoulders proud
walking around, eyes looking at
all the possibilities the world has to offer.
After all, I was walking four feet behind and I could see your back whilst looking at what the opportunities that this park, town, and world had.
That I did not see an option because
you were a possibility.
A possibility I never was for you.
Because you were four steps ahead
and I was not in sight.
Dear summer boy,
I was so in love with the idea of you.
Something I wrote about someone who seemed to think very deeply about all their someones. Also i felt like a twelve year old girl when i writing this, I'm pretty sure it read like it too. No one will read this, I've only posted this so my friends could <3 So if you're reading this, hi friend.
