To this day I picture you by my dresser standing pale without a stitch of clothing;
when things get tough I want you there. When things are simple, I only want myself.
Just a few months ago, I imagined I was leaning down to reach into the mini fridge
to grab you a snack while you sat on my bed and told stories of how my hair fell behind my back,
wrote poetry on my pillow case with every crease caused by your restless head.
Over summer I drew for you even though I hadn't held your hand in years and years.
On some of those pages was blood from nervous picking at my fingernails and tears
from being home sick for a home I hadn't known since before tenth grade, when we met.
The halloween before last, I'd imagine you calling me to tell me you thought I was beautiful.
Say, come outside, sweetheart, I've got a surprise. Immediately there'd be life growing in my eyes-
but you wouldn't call and I wouldn't open the door. I'd stay in bed awake and hurt my heart with more
or less words from your messages and silent text.
We yearned for each other but we agreed to not make a mess of this.
We have potential, but not just yet.
Last summer I saw you, spent the night in a tent.
You told me I was your best friend and two months later, left.
Last summer I told you, this would be more than a lesson.
Your voice made my knees weak and your words kept me sane.
You're a blessing without god; and I love you all the same.