I've been thinking a whole lot about Gatsby.
A whole lot about the past.
About second chances.
The green light.

I should have seen it coming,
that first time on the gym floor
when you wouldn't hold my hand when I asked
and you watched as embarrassment and rejection spread across my face
or the second time after attendance recovery
when you hugged me too long and waited so long to decide whether or not you should kiss me that you just didn't make a decision
and you watched me walk to my sisters car in the back of the school's parking lot with my hands probably in my pockets my eyes on the pavement and my lip between my teeth
or the third time in my car after a day at the flea market on valentines day when we pretended to not to notice the fact that the plans we had made aligned perfectly with the calender's lovely little notice in the bottom corner of the 14th square as we sat in the dark so close and yet so far and you told me goodnight and retreated inside
or the fourth time just a few nights later when I built up the courage to slightly graze your skin with mine as we talked about life and I still wonder if that took you by surprise because I was so scared and nervous that I couldn't do it until I closed my eyes and you must've been nervous and scared too but you managed to keep it disguised
or the fifth time when I got too high to drive home so I slept over and you didn't want our bodies connected in too many places so you intentionally shifted each time I did to create empty sheeted spaces
and I snuggled close into your neck and I could feel something in you this time but you rolled over and slept until I was awaken for a favor from a past lover and I left


or the last time, a few months later,
after I told you I felt us ending and you told me there were people who could make both of us happier than we were and I cried and I held you tight and we spent some time outside admiring nature and the bugs and when it came time for me to leave all I was left with was a hug and "don't text and drive."
It took everything in me not to turn around as soon as I pulled out and ask for one last chance to kiss you
just one more, for the memory, for old times sake, for anything
but I was tired of being brave
and I was tired of making the first move
and I sure as hell wasn't going to make the last one.
So I unlocked the wooden gate, and drove on through the cooling twilight.

But this time I'm having trouble
seeing the green light at the end of the dock.
This time when someone questions me, I know the answer.
"Can't repeat the past?"
Why of course you can't.
I'm not a fool, and neither are you.