It's been a while.
Since I wrote a poem.
But not since I wrote about you.

I write about you all the time.
Every once in a while,
I forget why.

Then I remember why.
I remember you,
Or I see a picture.

I see your blond hair.
Your blue eyes.
You're the reason I have a type.

I think of your adventure,
And your shyness,
And your varying range of emotion.

I think of all these
Random memories,
Floating around in my head.

Like ping pong.
And capture the flag.
Like long flaring lights and computer bags.

Like fire escapes,
And hiding under tables,
Like missing you in winter with eyelashes like a fable.

Like long walks in the dark,
And hidden dark handkerchiefs with white polka dots.
Like plaid checkered jackets, even when it's hot.

Like cargo shorts and a white fedora.
Gathering under the arch like it's an agora.
Hiding that handkerchief between the flora.

God, I miss you more and more.
Months til I see you,
I'm down to only a few before.

I almost can't wait,
It makes me feel sad.
The fact that I'd leave,
Just like that.

Just so I could see you again.

It's Valentine's Day
And I'm here without you.
And I wish more than anything,
For that to not be true.