she is sunrises
and sunsets;
she is music
and melodies;
she is poetry in coffeeshops
and our sweaty palms clasped together
in the car on backroads at night.
she is shy laughter
and movie marathons.
she is the reason
I can't stop writing.
she is all of these things,
but she is not mine.

*–w.b.h. // i never learned how to define you