I know you want something more,
but I'm afraid I'll never be able to give that to you.
You see, it seems as though I've forgotten how to feel.

I know it sounds bad,
but I guess that's just how it goes
when you fall for someone
who brings out the best in you,
because when he leaves,
all that's left of you
is the worst.

And I'm sorry,
but how am I supposed to know what love is
when the first boy I truly loved
loved another girl at the same time
he supposedly "loved" me?

And how am I supposed to love again
when the only boy I ever loved
chose his first love over me?

I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm sorry.
I know this must be hard for you to hear,
but I just don't know how I could ever feel for you
the way I once felt for him.

To be honest,
it's not that I don't remember how to feel.
It's that I don't want to remember.

But maybe you could help me,
teach me to love again,
so I'd finally know what it feels like
to love a boy like you.

I remember thinking you weren't gonna show,
that what we had was just some sort of concoction
spun up by my own imagination,
a distraction protecting me from the painful reality
that you'd never be my own.

I remember preparing myself to be immersed in that
miserable reality, though,
getting ready to go home and explain to my mom
that what I'd thought was something
had really been nothing all along.

But just as I was about to give up
and pursue that hopeless journey
of reliving my greatest misapprehension,
there you were in a bright yellow t-shirt,
waiting at the top of the hill.

I remember walking up to see you standing there,
putting bait on your fishing line
as if that was your only care.

I remember how music was blaring from your truck's radio,
like you were some sort of cool guy
I'd never get the chance to know.

But I could tell that was all just an act,
because, man, did you turn around fast
the second I said hello.

And who could forget those shades.
You know, the ones you kept on
the entire time we were together.
I guess you were just afraid that without them,
I'd see right through that wall you'd built up
to keep me from knowing how you really felt.

But little did you know you'd already given yourself away...

I remember how badly your hand shook
as you put more bait on the line,

How big you smiled at all the stories I told
and every single joke of mine,

How surprised you were when I asked you to sit
because you didn't know what to do,

And how much space you made sure to leave between us
when I sat down next to you.

The funny thing is,
I bet I could recall more details about that single summer day
than I could about the past sixteen years of my life.

And the sad truth is,
no matter how badly I wish to move on from that summer,
I'll never forget the way you once felt for me
and how happy I was to see you waiting there
in that bright yellow t-shirt.

Saturday night football game,
surrounded by a crowd of cheering fans,
classmates I'm supposed to call my friends,
but honestly, I'd much rather be home in my PJs,
watching corny movies with my grandma.

"Where are you going?" they ask.
Like they even care.
They don't.

I decide to leave,
but just as I'm walking out,
there you are.

The boy with the brown eyes and the brown hair,
but everything else about him bright and shining like the sun,
with every color that blossoms from the innermost workings
of my aching heart,
The boy that makes weeks feel like days
and hours feel like seconds,
The boy I never thought I'd stand a chance with,
until now.

What do I do?
Do I pretend your eyes didn't just catch mine?
Do I leave, regardless of the fact
that this could be the very opportunity
I've been waiting for?
Do I stay,
unsure if I'd even get up the nerve
to talk to you?

But before I can think about this any longer,
before I can talk myself out of saying the two letters
I should've never said,
"Hi" slips out from underneath my tongue
and wraps itself around my neck
like a rope that, if pulled only the slightest bit tighter,
would've had the potential to strangle every thought in my mind
to silence.

But to my surprise, you smile.
Oh, how precious that smile was.
I haven't seen it in a while,
you know.

So we talk and we laugh,
and you ask me if I'd like to sit,
go somewhere we can be alone.

I lead.
You sit down next to me,
your leg brushing up against mine.

A rusty old picnic table
becomes a spot I'd never forget,
a soon-to-be landmark behind all the bleachers and fake friends,
all the screaming, all the cheering, of people who'll never know
what it's like to feel the way I did that night.

A little boy runs out in front of us,
playing with a small car his mom must've let him bring,
his curly blonde hair bouncing up and down with every step.

You tell me about that time you fell off your bike,
went tumbling down and got right back up
to ride all the way back home.
How your dad called and you answered,
forgetting to mention the severity of what had just happened.
The way your brother looked at you when you stumbled through the front door,
all bruised and beaten up like you'd just been in a bad fight.
The way you walked upstairs,
how you just laughed.

I tell you about anything I can think of,
anything that you didn't already know.
To be honest, I don't even remember what I said.
I was so nervous I didn't even know words
were coming out of my mouth
until you laughed that laugh,
the same one as when you fell off your bike.

Soon, silence falls upon us,
but not the kind that thickens the air
and makes it hard to breathe.
No, the "this is so amazing I'm at a loss for words"
kind of silence.
The same silence everyone needs to experience in their lives.

And suddenly,
in the midst of our perfect quiet,
you do something you'd never be able to take back,
something that meant a lot more to me
than it ever would to you:
you put your arm around me.

I remember feeling so special.
I remember finally accepting the fact
that you could feel the same about me
as I always had for you.

I remember feeling like nothing in the world could hurt me,
nothing could bring me down,
not as long as your arm stayed right there,
around mine.

But nothing stays perfect forever.
Quiet moments fade,
the clock runs out,
players shake hands,
crowds go home.

And before you know it,
Saturday nights fade into Sunday mornings.
And Sunday mornings feel like let-downs
after Saturday nights like those.

It's a Friday night
and here I am,
writing yet another poem
About you.

You and your brown eyes,
You and that smile I'm still not over,
You and the way you used to look at me.

But you're not the same you that you were before.
You're too busy pleasing everyone,
Letting them change you into a you
that I don't even recognize anymore.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is,
Why did you let them get in the way
Of what we could've had?

Because I'm not really writing this poem
About you after all,
I'm writing it about the you
I used to know.

Five seconds
The amount of time it takes for you to hide the way you feel
Five seconds
How long it takes for me to believe your feelings are real
Six seconds
Hiding the feelings that you just let slip through
Because after those five seconds are up
You leave me feeling hopelessly confused
And I’ll admit that ever since,
My mind hasn’t stopped thinking
About you.
[That’s what a mere five seconds will do.]