It’s funny how a memory works
I was thinking today about how I usually don’t remember exact days
For example, Christmas
I remember getting excited and I remember waking up
and looking under the tree for the outline of that typewriter
I begged my parents for
but I can’t remember what day of the week it was,
not even from this year
I think to the night we spent together though;
and I know that it was a Saturday
I was supposed to be at my friend’s house
but she cancelled on me
I would learn later that fate works in mysterious ways
even though I was mad at her at first
You texted me and asked me to get coffee
It was four in the morning
We talked until eight about nothing
but we also talked about everything
I guess it was Sunday since it was the morning
I guess I could say I spent the whole weekend with you
but I know that it was only four hours;
still the most prominent four hours of my seventeen years
I remember being in the coffee shop,
and the song “Edge of Seventeen” came on
I thought it was a weird coincidence because
I was on the edge of seventeen and you were on the edge of twenty
and we were both on the edge of falling in love
We talked about dreams, and I told you that I don’t like to sleep
because I have nightmares and I forget what reality is when I wake up
You stared into my eyes and I felt a tug in my chest
Your eyes whispered to mine that they understood
I don’t think we were even speaking in English
we were speaking in smiles and nervous twitchy body language
I told you that I found you intimidating
you laughed and told me you were sorry
I told you not to apologize, I just thought you were so cool
“you’re cool too” you said with a smile
I just laughed and looked at my coffee mug
I get nervous with compliments
We went out for a cigarette and I had trouble lighting mine
because I was so enticed by the way the smoke floated
so effortlessly out of your mouth
I remember thinking that if I was the smoke in your lungs
I wouldn’t fight to come out, I’d stay warm beside your heart
I told you that I needed to get home
before my parents noticed I was gone
You walked me home and the whole time I was praying to a God
that I don’t believe in that you would kiss me goodnight
But you didn’t
We didn’t talk again after that night and
I know now not to fall in love with the
twenty year old little boy
who still wants to grow up and be a poet
and who stares at you while he sings