I knew what love looked like in my first year of high school.
Love had dark hair.
And darker eyes.
Love knew all the words to my favourite Metalica songs.
Love always knows where he belongs.
Love read me Peter Pan.
Over,
And over,
And over again.
Love was a fool.
Love spat when he spoke.
He hated the smell of pinecone smoke.
And he never washed his hands.
Love hated strawberries.
And he hated my favourite poet.
But sometimes love moves far away.
Sometimes love can stay.
Maybe love can't.
Maybe love shouldn't.
Then I found it again,
Sitting on a bar stool.
Love just didn't care.
Love had dark hair.
But bright eyes.
Love hated Metalica.
Love had hands as soft as a babies.
Love never told me I was beautiful.
No words were ever suitable.
Love hated the taste of my mouth.
Brandy and coke.
Love drove a ****** car.
And love bought me roses.
Love could never keep his hands still.
Love was always in it for the thrill.
He hated my cigarettes.
And he never spoke his mind.
Love left.
Convicted of theft.
And love disappeared.
Slowly.
Like baby teeth.
Losing parts of me I thought I needed.
Sometimes love isn't ready for you.
Sometimes you aren't ready for love.
Sometimes it's all of the above.
Sometime you find love again.
Thirteen years after graduation.
Still as beautiful as you remember.
Like on that day in mid December.