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quinn collins Nov 2013
time seems to slow down exponentially
when you’re staring at the hands of a clock:
a minute can seem like a lifetime;
look away and they will change,
as if they were too shy to do anything
underneath your watchful gaze.

you were like this:
i didn’t know what i wanted until
i was no longer searching for it,
until you came from out of nowhere
and made me see what i’d always wanted
but never knew how to figure out.
quinn collins Nov 2013
i saw the clouds light up with color today,
a scene perfect for a picture,
but as i went back to capture the moment,
it had gone and passed,
a fleeting second in time.

most moments are like this,
here one minute and gone the next,
and it’s difficult to grab them
when we’re too busy looking to the future,
too busy imagining other possibilities.

you see, i don’t know what i’d have done
if you hadn’t been there,
and i hadn’t been there,
and the moment didn’t present itself,
wasn’t ripe for the picking.

(i think i could be falling in love with you.)
quinn collins Nov 2013
hands clasping hands,
skin pressed against skin,
toes kissing toes,
lips melting into lips

and yet i still wish
there were a way
for two bodies
to be even closer
quinn collins Nov 2013
driving back home tonight,
taillights, lines, signs,
all blurring in my vision
because i’m too busy thinking
of the ways i could have
made things as perfect for you
as you made them for me
quinn collins Nov 2013
i remember how much
i despised coffee
when i was younger:
i’d wake up and smell it in the air,
sniff the contents of my father’s mug,
nose crinkling up at the scent,
and now it’s the only thing
waking me up in the morning,
keeping me up at night,
pushing me through the day.

this is growing up,
my mother tells me.

and i don’t mean to be,
but i’m surrounded by boys
with dimples that **** me slowly,
who think love lies
on the surface of my skin,
who know how to expertly manipulate,
and i’m stuck in an inescapable maze,
running on my wheel as fast as i can,
never going anywhere.

this is growing up,
i hear my mother’s voice
ringing in my ear.
quinn collins Nov 2013
we are creatures of habit:
give me love
and i will return it
wholeheartedly,
but rip it out from under me
and i will go on
loving you
as if nothing was different.
we are creatures of habit
no matter how much
it tears my heart to shreds.
quinn collins Oct 2013
in math we learned about parallel lines,
always moving in sync,
always in the same direction,
but never crossing, never touching,
and i went home, crying,
cursing the universe for being so cruel,
the pure tragedy of the fact
rattling me to my bones
and into my soul.

but the next day,
we learned about perpendicular lines,
coming together and meeting in the middle,
but separating, parting ways,
never to see each other again,
and i sat there, silently fuming,
and asked my teacher
why things have to be like they are,
the one question she couldn’t answer.
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