Age 5
There we sat, you in criss cross applesauce,
I sat on my chicken legs.
I remember your small curls didn’t come past your ears
As we slurped our apple juice and gabbed on about Harry Potter.
Our stubbornness and entitlement matched.
Age 7
I remember the day you told me that we were growing apart.
You told me that I wanted to grow up too fast for you,
I think it was my lipstick that did it.
We grew separately.
Age 13
Six years past, and we had finally matched up again.
Growth and maturity was as similar as it could be,
But now I needed to be something for you:
A specific mixture of contentment, judging, intelligence
and a spirit that we both always wanted.
15
You were blossoming before my eyes, I felt as though
I owned some part of that, we were close knit and joyous.
We belonged together again.
You didn’t like the strange boy who came into my life,
you neglected my heart he resided in,
I moved things around to make you room
but again, it wasn't enough.
16
Effort was engraved in my voice,
I wanted our mismatched souls together again.
I felt as though I was begging
on my knees for our unconventional love.
Do you remember our fight? Where I believed
we were finally expressing enough to progress to a real level.
I realized the aimlessness of trying to affect you.
17
There were still spurts of hope in us,
but finally I cut the chord, I doubt you noticed.
Even our glances I struggled to make sure were not glares.
Then the miracle moment, you stand next to me
and speak the empty words, “How are you? I haven’t talked to you in a while.”
In the same voice I sculpted to not sound desperate.
You spoke it effortlessly with no substance,
that right there
was when I truly understood we just never matched up.