“I think that I love him,”
I wrote down in my journal that day.
Words scrawled across the page
curling like timid spring tendrils.
I swam in it all afternoon,
turning pruney with the feeling.
Indulging in the thought that this
was what I’d long been needing.
But day turned into night,
things changed within the hour;
lovely feelings, slowly budding,
became shrunken withered flowers.
With a friend I had been talking,
he asked, “What do you know about Justin?”
The air was cool on my teeth as I smiled,
“It’s hard to know about Justin.”
In that moment, my heart was swollen
with hope that my friend would spill
words that I could indulge on
like red wine to the ears,
and I felt my face turn ruddy
with anticipation of the pleasure,
it was almost too much bear—
my beating heart could hardly wait—
And within that same moment, he said,
“Well he really likes your roommate.”