I wrote a poem about you in my mind.
It was short and snappy and sure to hurt.

Why?

I still love you
and nothing can change that.

Just yesterday
We were 12 years old
Plagued by acne and awkward physicality
Attempting to conquer middle school and everything that comes with it
******* too large for our scrawny figures
Pale skin
Freckles painting our faces
Yesterday we were 12
I swear we were just
Giggling about boys between slow dances at whatever bar mitzvah was that weekend
Smiling as they stared at awe at our changing bodies
Sticks blooming into carved wood
Futures as tall as we were hoping to become
Although I myself never made it past 5 foot 2
It was the promise that kept us going
The promise of straight teeth and symmetrical eyeliner
The desire to have boys' hands on our skin
Craving the rough callus against our delicate thighs
There were no cages back then
Our stomachs were filled to the rim with butterflies
Free to do as they please
We never thought twice
Only did
Immersing ourselves in adventures
Back before excitement moved to glass bottles and late nights with crowded rooms
Back when
It lived in our backyards and the mall down the street
The other day
We were 12 years old
But today I just feel old
Feel strange
Feel like I left a part of me back home
I am miles away from where I was at 12 years
But it feels so close in time
Feels like I can still look in the mirror
To find us in poorly applied makeup
In Ill fitting pants and hot topic t shirts
Neon pink accessories
I find it hard to believe
That these people have been gone for six years already
And that for the first time since meeting
They will be apart
We have been through it all
The good
The bad
The disappointing
The awkward and embarassing
All of these years in my life
Have already passed
So why do I feel like they are still stuck to my skin
Why do I feel like nothing has changed at all
I know
That change is inevitable
That time goes on no matter how many times we hit snooze
That we are older and that this is real life and we don't get to choose whether it's easy or not
That we have to face it head on
I know we're going down separate paths
But they have to connect somewhere
I know they will someday
Someday we will look back
And say
Yesterday we were 18
Where the **** did time go?
I don't know where it did
But until we find it
Let's just breathe
Take it in
Go slow.

She’s got a hole on the topside of her right Nike shoe
Pink, black, white patterns ruined by her bony toe
Does she know
She’s not wearing socks?

Hair callously thrown into a disgraceful bun
Wetted from sweat or shower
I’ll never know.

Screensaver sepia toned
And donned in the center
Is a lover, perhaps,
Kissing her laughing cheek.

She’s more organized than me,
Dutifully taking notes
And yearning, craving for the professors
Pleasant spew of factual ****

She records his words
I record my thoughts
Who’s the more selfish one?
This stranger sitting diagonally in front of me
With her pink ears and lightly freckled face,
Or myself
Because I don’t even want to know her name.

Her world will forever remain a place
Untainted by myself
(Lucky her).
She’ll remain a mystery, an enigma
Stories that define who she is
Left for assumption and infinity.

She’ll never know I’m thinking
Only of her
And for absolutely no purpose
Other than practicing
Observing the small glimpses
Of people’s lives they offer you
Unknowingly

If thy self worth
derives from the status of others,
thou art a narcissist or a sociopath.

If thy self worth
derives from bringing others down,
thou art already lower than they are.

If thy self worth
derives from petty comparisons,
thou art a vain and unsophisticated soul.

If thy self worth
derives from thy own accomplishments,
no worldly thing can restrain thy potential.

Break free of thy Ego,
learn to let it drive thee
rather than steer thee:
thus may thou thy bliss construct.

lately I've been breathlessly reveling in galaxies of unspoiled ocean currents filled with words from the souls of those I haven't met, plastering them in layers around the walls of my own.
lately I've opened so many curious doors an uncontrollable wind swept inside of me billowing loose sheets of paper to every direction imaginable and I'm not sure which door to close for it all to go away.
there's a sweet smell of summer mixed with heartache in my veins, a tide that comes in varying waves over the tips of my toes and fingertips wishing over and over again to surface the parts of me that aren't real.
there's a world of difference between imagining and experiencing, watching and listening, red wine and *** mixed with fruits of every possible color, the unavoidable oxymoron of my time in this place;
forgetting the things I wish to remember, remembering the things I wish to forget.